


We Keep on Living Anyway

by shadowed_sunsets



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Greg is (mostly) a patient man, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, M/M, More Tags to be added as I go, acquaintances to friends to relationship, an injured recovering Mycroft is not a happy Mycroft, dealing with traumatic memories is not pleasant, post The Final Problem fix-it, somehow they'll get there, with a Mycroft & Greg twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-01-20 13:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowed_sunsets/pseuds/shadowed_sunsets
Summary: After personally witnessing the aftermath of the events at Sherrinford for himself, when called upon Greg Lestrade (mostly) willingly takes upon himself the not insignificant role of looking after Mycroft Holmes during his extended recovery. From there on together they begin a long road towards not only recovery but understanding, closure, and a furthering of their relationship. Post TFP fix-it centering on Mycroft and Greg.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for eys93 for the Fandom Trumps Hate auction that actually happened in... January?
> 
> Thank you for being so patient with me, and open to discussion for what you liked. It's been wonderful to work with you!
> 
> Also thanks to the always wonderful pipmer who tames my writing and makes it actually presentable to all you guys. Best beta ever.
> 
> There will be more of this, just posting as I finish! As you can see its kind of gotten away from me *eyes Mycroft and Greg*
> 
> I really hope this meets, or exceeds, your expectations and you enjoy it!
> 
> And for everyone else, I hope you all enjoy this as well!

Greg was finally driving home from Scotland Yard after accomplishing the herculean task of finishing all the paperwork piled up in his inbox. He hadn’t had many complicated cases recently, most were black and white. Which meant while his solve rate remained impressively high, the days all tended to blur together.

It also meant he hadn’t seen Sherlock or John recently, not since the whole media fiasco with Culverton. Really that entire ordeal had just been a trainwreck from start to end. Maybe it was better Greg hadn’t heard from or seen either Sherlock or John.

Greg still frequently checked his mobile for any messages or calls from either of them, but so far there had been nothing.

So when his mobile started ringing when he was barely five minutes away from his place, Greg hurried to answer it. Mostly in the hope that it was Sherlock, but was more likely John.

Raising the mobile to eye level so he could see the display while keeping an eye on the road, a wave of alarm went through him when he saw “blocked caller.” The last time he’d seen that was back when he’d first encountered Sherlock and Mycroft had melodramatically called him without actually saying who he was. Ever since then Mycroft had called him from a listed number.

Greg weighed the consequences of answering versus ignoring the call. But finally his curiosity won, so Greg answered it.

“Hello? This is DI Lestrade speaking,” Greg answered, trying to sound professional.

“Detective Inspector, this is Lady Smallwood.”

Greg promptly bit back a curse, then covered his mouth. Lady Smallwood wasn’t often visible in the public eye, but her name was known to be involved in closed doors matters.

“Are you currently at Scotland Yard? Or are you able to be in the next several minutes?” Lady Smallwood asked without in fact asking. Greg was used to hearing the same tone from his higher ups when they were actually telling him what to do.

Greg checked the time then did a few mental calculations. “I’m not there now, but it wouldn’t take me long.”

“I’ll be waiting for you in a car just outside,” Lady Smallwood instructed before she abruptly rang off.

Greg dropped his phone back into his lap then pulled the car off to the side of the road so he could rest his forehead against the steering wheel and close his eyes for just a second. He’d been hoping for something exciting to happen, and apparently someone had heard his wish. Only it was the wrong person.

Lady Smallwood had called him directly, which made him doubt whatever this was about would end well. A small voice in his head wondered if somehow Sherlock and John or Mycroft was involved.

Well, he’d soon find out. Greg wearily lifted his head, turned on the indicator light, and made a u-turn as he drove as fast as legally possible back to Scotland Yard.

__

Barely half an hour later Greg found himself seated across from Lady Smallwood in a helicopter flying above London. There were also two men dressed all in black in the cockpit but they hadn’t said a single thing when he’d arrived except to nod at him.

Lady Smallwood hadn’t said much either. She’d confirmed his identity, inspecting his credentials, then requested he climb inside the helicopter. She had refused to say where they were going or what this was all about, so Greg just did as he was told and hoped he would eventually be told. He really didn’t want to end up left somewhere in a foreign country or somewhere completely unknown.

After they’d been flying for what felt like an hour but he couldn’t be sure since Lady Smallwood had taken his mobile as soon as he’d arrived, Lady Smallwood finally leaned forward and started speaking, cupping a hand around the microphone in her helmet.

“You may not find it surprising that due to your continued association with both Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes your security clearance has been elevated significantly.” Lady Smallwood spoke in a straightforward manner that Greg wasn’t used to receiving from the government officials he typically encountered.

Then he processed what she was saying and felt his mouth drop open a little. “I didn’t know that, no.” Greg sat back against the seat and crossed his arms. “When did that happen?”

Lady Smallwood just smiled at him. “That isn’t necessary for you to know. But due to your elevated security clearance, your unique experience with the Holmes brothers, and how you’ve continually proven yourself to be trustworthy and loyal, I’ve decided you should accompany me.”

Greg waited for her to explain further. Then when his patience wore out, Greg asked, “Where exactly am I accompanying you to?”

For a moment Lady Smallwood looked away from him, seeming to be studying the landscape passing by below them. All Greg could see was green hills with some rocks and trees thrown in occasionally for good measure, which told him absolutely nothing about where they were.

“There is a facility on a secure island, called Sherrinford,” Lady Smallwood began in the tone of someone telling a story. “It’s a top secret institution whose sole purpose is to contain what people in my occupation typically call the ‘uncontainables.’ Sherrinford is more than a prison or an asylum. It is a remote, heavily guarded, and top of the line, fortress built to keep the rest of the world safe from those inside it. It is only known to those whose work makes it absolutely necessary to know.”

“But you’re telling me about it,” Greg said before he could stop himself from stating the obvious. “Because… That’s where we’re currently headed?”

“Yes,” Lady Smallwood said with a small nod. “I have reason to believe that Mycroft, Sherlock, and Doctor Watson may be in trouble. They flew out to the facility earlier today with a specifically chosen team accompanying them. Just before I contacted you I received an alert that the entire facility had gone into lockdown. Since then I’ve been unable to reach anyone. All I’ve heard from that team is that Sherlock, Doctor Watson, and Mycroft ‘left’ the helicopter before it reached Sherrinford.”

Greg blinked slowly at that. But while he should probably be shocked, he wasn’t really. For all that Mycroft and Sherlock insisted they were ruled by logic and intellect, they could do some very reckless and illogical things. “They left the helicopter before it landed? What, did they jump out over the ocean?”

“That isn’t entirely clear at the moment,” Lady Smallwood replied but she didn’t sound very impressed by the idea. “But they did arrive at Sherrinford, and shortly afterwards the facility went into lockdown.”

“Which is why we’re flying out after them, because they probably need rescuing,” Greg agreed, feeling like he was finally catching on. “But you haven’t explained why they flew out there to start with.”

Lady Smallwood was silent for a few minutes, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. “That is more difficult to explain. Mycroft should really be the one to tell you, I think. It is his personal history after all.”

“Mycroft’s?” Greg repeated, honestly surprised. “What kind of history does Mycroft have with a facility like Sherrinford?”

“You’ll see,” Lady Smallwood told him with a raised eyebrow, then proceeded not to pay attention to him for the rest of the flight.

She didn't say a word when they finally landed on the roof of an island fortress built into the rock that eerily reminded Greg of that psychiatric facility from Shutter Island. 

He stepped out of the helicopter after Lady Smallwood and promptly zipped up his jacket against the biting wind. “Not very hospitable!” Greg called over the wind, looking around at the surrounding sea and the more distant green hills of the mainland.

The two men in black from the cockpit each left the helicopter holding rifles. So maybe this facility wasn’t as secure, even in a lockdown, as they’d been led to believe.

Lady Smallwood, apparently fearless, strode quickly over to the roof entrance. The strong wind, cold temperature, and the fact she was wearing heels didn’t seem to slow her down at all.

Greg followed her as quickly as he could, with the two men in black bringing up the rear behind him. There wasn’t anyone else on the roof, not even guards, which seemed strange. Maybe those inside the facility weren’t worried about anyone entering this way.

He caught up to Lady Smallwood at the door, her security badge in hand as she swept it through the reader. Only the red light didn’t change nor did the door open.

Lady Smallwood made an irritated noise under her breath and tried to swipe her badge again. It didn’t work that time either.

“Didn’t you say the entire facility was on lockdown?” Greg asked curiously, looking over her shoulder. “Lockdown usually means no one's allowed in or out.”

“I should still have the clearance to enter the facility, regardless,” Lady Smallwood replied irritably, trying yet again.

“Ma’am, perhaps you should try the door,” one of the unidentified men in black suggested calmly.

Lady Smallwood made a noise, but she did reach out to wrap a hand around the door handle. It opened easily with a light tug, making only a faint creaking noise as Lady Smallwood pulled it open the rest of the way.

“Oh Mycroft, what have you done,” Lady Smallwood whispered, actually sounding worried.

Before Greg could ask, Lady Smallwood straightened, squared her shoulders, and stepped through into a long hallway lit only by emergency lighting at the floor.

Greg took a deep breath and pushed his hands down into his pockets before crossing the threshold inside the secure island prison. 

He just had to keep telling himself they were (probably) perfectly safe as they walked down hallway after hallway that looked exactly the same. There were armed guards with them for a reason, right? He could only hope Lady Smallwood knew where they were going.

After the hallways continued, and Greg was disoriented to the point where he couldn't tell if they had gone any deeper into the facility, he spoke up. “Are we hoping to find the center of this place eventually? Somewhere with a control center and someone in charge?”

“That is the best case scenario, yes,” Lady Smallwood confirmed, continuing down the hallway.

“And I don't want to know the worst case, understood,” Greg answered, still looking around to spot any difference in this hallway they'd just turned down.

“I'm hoping we won't encounter the worst case scenario. However, the chance of that is growing increasingly slim,” Lady Smallwood explained, her voice shaking a little. “Something is very wrong.”

Not reassured at all, Greg huddled deeper into his jacket. He still felt chilled, but he wasn't sure if it was from the weather outside or the inside of the facility.

They turned another corner and this time there was a foreboding metal door in front of them, with a camera positioned above the top right corner pointing directly in front of the door.

“Honestly Mycroft, ‘Sherrinford is secure,’” Lady Smallwood muttered under her breath disapprovingly. She started walking, marching really, towards the door.

“Ma’am, we don't know what's on the other side of that door,” one of the guards warned, “please wait until we can secure it.”

“That's not necessary,” Lady Smallwood said dismissively, stopping right in front of the door to show her badge to the camera as she stared up at it. “If someone is on the other side they'll open the door once they see my credentials.”

Greg fingered his identification still in his jacket pocket but left it for now. Lady Smallwood was obviously in charge of the situation and more than prepared for it.

Several seconds later there was a loud noise of gears shifting and finally the security door in front of them retracted into the walls on either side.

Beyond the door was an expansive room that looked like either the headquarters of a secret government faction or an evil mastermind. The walls were crudely fashioned out of the rock but the floors were smooth and surprisingly shiny. On the opposite side of the room was an expensive and intimidating desk positioned in front of glass walls. Off to their left near the desk were three large monitors that together took up nearly the entire wall. The two screens on the sides were dark, apparently turned off, but the middle one was displaying grey and white static. As if whatever had been shown there had finished running.

To their right was a set of carved stone stairs that led up to what looked like a control booth with large inset glass windows and faint electronic light coming from inside. 

As far as Greg could tell both rooms were empty, abandoned. And between the silent static on the monitor and the red overhead lights flooding the room making very creepy shadows where there shouldn't be, the cautious voice in the back of his head was beginning to shout.

“Well this is encouraging,” Lady Smallwood commented sarcastically as she stepped into the room and looked around.

Following Lady Smallwood inside Greg walked over to the monitors to look at them. When he didn't find anything significant, other than that the one showing static wouldn't turn off no matter what he did, Greg moved to investigate the desk instead. Not that he could see much with the haunted house-esque lighting.

“Ma’am,” one of the guards interrupted from where he was standing several steps up the stairs to the control booth, now gripping his rifle. The other guard was back by the door they'd come in through, rifle aimed down the hallway. “I can see movement inside the room, there may be someone in there.”

Lady Smallwood quickly crossed the room to stand at the bottom of the steps looking up at him. “Well, go on then,” she insisted, waving a hand at the door at the very top of the stairs. “See who it is.”

The two guards exchanged glances, and the one guarding the door moved to position himself in front of Lady Smallwood. Greg, just as a precaution, moved to stand behind the guard (wishing he had something to defend himself with).

The guard already halfway up the stairs slowly continued upwards, keeping his back against the wall and rifle in hand as he neared the door. There was a card reader next to the door handle, but the light was inactive.

Now at the top of the stairs the guard crouched down then in one swift movement reached out and pulled the door open.

A young man with dark hair and glasses tumbled out, wearing a grey sweater vest and tattered trousers. He spilled headfirst onto the steps, holding his hands out which didn't help break his fall.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” The guard demanded sharply, pointing the rifle down at the young man who wasn't making any effort to get up.

“Shappey!” The man answered in a shaking, breaking voice. He slowly sat up on his knees, holding his arms out to the side. A security badge was clipped to the hem of his jumper and the left lens of his glasses was cracked. “My name’s Shappey. I’m a technician, I work here. Everyone else is gone, I don't know where she put them. But I couldn't get out and the entire system is down. I, I just had to watch on the closed-circuit cameras as she… as they…”

Before he could finish the rest of his sentence the young man's face crumpled and he began hiccuping quietly, ducking his head.

Lady Smallwood stepped past the guard standing in front of her and, ignoring his protest, began walking up the steps. She stopped a step below the technician and reached out to take his badge.

As she inspected it Lady Smallwood asked, “Where is the governor?”

For some reason this caused the technician to break down again, just when he seemed to be pulling himself together. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking.

Greg slowly started walking up the steps, stopping next to Lady Smallwood. The young technician was obviously traumatized with how he was behaving, and even though she meant well she wasn't actually helping.

“Just tell us what happened, son,” Greg said quietly, trying to haphazardly position himself on the stairs so he could shield the technician from the rest of the room.

The young man inhaled shakily. “The governor, he’s, he’s dead. It was for one of her games, but he killed himself instead of playing. After that there were more games, I didn't understand them really but they were all twisted, awful. Then she told one of them to kill one of the other two and god it was so horrible he didn't want to he couldn't but she forced him and I swear he was going to but then she did something and they all… went to sleep.”

“Who is ‘she’?” Greg asked, dread creeping in quickly. He honestly didn't understand most of what was going on, but just knowing that the governor had made the choice to kill himself was horrible. He’d seen a lot in his career as a police officer. But this was something completely different. And if someone had been forced into doing that...

Quickly, and before the technician could answer Greg's question, Lady Smallwood asked a different question.

“After they were unconscious what did she do with them?”

The technician swallowed visibly, taking his security badge back from her. “She took two of them away in a helicopter. Richards and Harrison went with her, I don't know why but they did. And the other one she left behind in her cell. He was still unconscious last time I checked but there's no one guarding him.”

“Did she mention where they were going in the helicopter? Did she leave any clues?” Lady Smallwood asked, sounding increasingly impatient even as she handed him back his badge.

The technician clipped his badge back onto his jumper and adjusted his glasses. “No, I just heard her say something about how they were finally going back home together.”

Lady Smallwood turned away to focus all of her attention on the nearest guard, handing over something Greg couldn't see. “Go get on the radio, tell the emergency services we have a location. They need to get there as quickly as possible, no excuses.”

“Yes ma’am,” the guard replied, snapping a salute. He turned and started down the stairs, passing Greg and the technician without another glance.

Greg took the moment to reach out to the still faintly shaking technician and helped him to his feet. They were both a bit unsteady on the stairs, but they managed. And the technician had started to look better now, less traumatized.

“You'll be alright,” Greg told the young man, trying to sound reassuring; even though he had no idea if he would be. “We’ll look after you.”

“Thanks,” the technician replied, managing a shaky smile. He took off his glasses and studied them with a resigned frown.

“Detective Inspector, I need to talk to you alone. Now.” Lady Smallwood insisted, making her way back down the stairs.

Greg turned to look after her, his hand still on the young technician’s shoulder. “What about-?”

“Now, Detective Inspector,” Lady Smallwood repeated, standing at the bottom of the stairs with her arms crossed. “We are on a deadline after all.”

“Right,” Greg replied with a sigh, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. He knew something important and high above his pay grade had happened here. Yet since he was involved with the Holmeses he was involved here now too. And that was fine, but Greg was getting fed up with not being told anything.

Greg wrapped an arm around the young man's shoulders and helped him down the stairs. Once they were again at ground level Greg turned to the guard standing nearby, ever alert.

“Look after him will you?”

The guard nodded then stepped forward and wrapped his arm around the technician’s back to help keep him upright.

Since the young man was now taken care of Greg turned and walked a little ways away to where Lady Smallwood was waiting. 

She greeted him with a slight curve of the mouth, and said, “I can see why you make such an excellent police officer, Lestrade. And why Mycroft and Sherlock think so highly of you.”

“Thank you,” Greg replied, choosing to take the compliment he thought it was meant to be. 

“Now,” he quickly added, crossing his arms, “Are you finally going to tell me what exactly is going on in this top-secret facility and what the hell it has to do with Mycroft, Sherlock, and John?”

Lady Smallwood gave a small nod, pressing her lips together. “Yes, you have a right to know now we've involved you. I've only waited because this,” she waved a hand at the otherwise empty room apart from them, the guards, and the traumatized technician, “was not what I expected to find when we arrived. Although I suppose from what I know of her I shouldn't find it surprising.”

“Lady Smallwood, who is ‘she’? Why are we here?” Greg insisted more sharply than he normally would, quickly approaching the end of his patience.

After a moment Lady Smallwood cleared her throat and started to finally explain. “Among the other ‘unspeakable inmates’ within this prison there is one whose name you would recognize.” She looked him directly in the eyes as she announced, “Eurus Holmes.”

Greg was almost certain he’d gone deaf for a moment. He slowly shook his head. “Sorry, ‘Eurus Holmes’? Holmes as in…?”

“Related to Mycroft and Sherlock, yes. Their younger sister,” Lady Smallwood clarified, surprisingly calm for how shocking this information was.

“Younger sister’?” Greg echoed, knowing he was just repeating her words but it was all he could manage at the moment. “There’s three of them?”

“In reality, yes,” Lady Smallwood confirmed, oddly calm. “However on record and as far as anyone else is concerned, only Mycroft and Sherlock are alive. Eurus died in a fire in another secure facility when she was a child.”

“But really she’s locked in here, in a remote island prison?” Greg asked, still trying to wrap his head around all of this.

“Yes, Mycroft was instrumental in arranging it at the time,” Lady Smallwood explained, “Ever since the fire she has been confined in an isolation cell in a special unit of this facility.”

Greg knew how infuriating the two Holmeses he was familiar with could be; there were many times he’d wanted to lock Sherlock (and sometimes John) in a cell just to keep him contained and to know where the man was. But being locked away for decades, since childhood? “Why exactly does she need to be locked away all the way out here?”

Lady Smallwood sighed quietly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Due to Mycroft’s insistence there has not been a psychiatric evaluation of Eurus Holmes since she was a child. However, according to those from her childhood, she was… Beyond intelligent. An era-defining genius.” 

She looked directly at Greg now, tilting her head slightly. “You’re familiar with the extent of Mycroft and Sherlock’s intelligence and abilities. From what I can surmise, Eurus even surpassed them. Yet unlike her brothers, despite what Mycroft or Sherlock may claim, she was incapable of feeling emotions and therefore had no conscience. Which in part led to the decision to have her confined here for everyone’s safety and for her own.”

“So what, Sherlock and Mycroft and John just decided to come for a visit and somehow everything went horribly wrong?” Greg asked with a bit of an edge to his voice only because he knew there was still something he was missing.

“Sherlock and John Watson have never visited here; Mycroft visited infrequently, only when it was absolutely necessary.” Lady Smallwood explained, now beginning to sound truly worried. “However I believe you are correct that during this visit things went horribly wrong to say the very least. Shappey’s description of events does not leave me at all optimistic.”

“Shappey said she took two of them away in a helicopter, saying they were going back home. Do we know who she meant and where they went?” Greg questioned, ready for action now and to do something to save the brilliant idiots.

“From what I can surmise it’s more than likely she took Sherlock and Doctor Watson with her in the helicopter to Musgrave and left Mycroft behind here,” Lady Smallwood offered in a straightforward manner that Greg appreciated. “It was mostly destroyed in the very first fire Eurus caused, but it is the only home she’s ever known.”

“And that’s where you sent the emergency services team,” Greg realized, thankful she had caught on in time to hopefully cut down on their head start. “How long will it take for them to reach Musgrave?”

“Not long hopefully, they shouldn’t be too far behind,” Lady Smallwood answered, pulling out her mobile. “I should check with Jenkins and find out their status. He said they would be in contact.”

“Can we find a way to get to Mycroft?” Greg asked before she could become distracted by something else. “We could at least make sure he’s safe.”

From a few steps away Lady Smallwood paused and turned back to look at him. “You’d have to ask Shappey how to get there, he would be more familiar with this facility. If he could manage to get the cameras working he would likely be able to direct you.”

“I’m sure he can help,” Greg agreed, silently thankful he wouldn’t have to wander around this labyrinth of a prison on his own and just hope to stumble across Mycroft. Hopefully the young man had recovered enough to be willing to help.

Lady Smallwood nodded before she continued walking across the room towards the windows with her mobile in hand, the one guard left behind silently following her.

Greg returned to where Shappey was sitting on the bottom step with his head in his hands. “I would like your help with something, if you’re up for it,” Greg said, keeping his voice quiet and polite.

Shappey slowly raised his head to blink owlishly at Greg behind his cracked glasses lens. “I’m just a technician. I didn’t even want to work in this place.”

Greg crouched down as far as he was able to look Shappey in the eyes. “You’ve been through something awful, and I’d understand if you didn’t want anything more to do with this. But that man you saw her leave behind in a cell is my friend, and he doesn’t deserve to be in there. So I want to go get him out. But I need your help.”

The young man frowned, tapping his fingers on his knee. He was silent for a minute or so until finally the technician sighed and straightened up, “All right, I do want to help.”

“Great,” Greg said eagerly, standing up again. He stretched out a hand to help the technician to his feet. “Do you have any ideas? I don’t have a way to get through the doors and I don’t know how to get to the cell. I would need you to guide me.”

Shappey was a little unsteady on his feet at first but he quickly got his bearings. “The entire system is down, so you don’t have to worry about getting through the doors. But I can use the closed-circuit cameras to guide you down the hallways. The secure unit is in a whole different section.”

“Wonderful,” Greg replied, patting the young man’s shoulder. “Do you have a way for us to communicate?”

The technician bit his lip as he fiddled with his glasses. “The guards use two-way radios, there might be some left in the control room.”

“All right, why don’t you go get two for us. I’ll wait right here,” Greg suggested, and hid a smile as the young man rushed up the stairs and into the control room. At least he was enthusiastic about having some way to help.

A few minutes later Shappey stepped back through the door of the control room and down to Greg, holding up two radios triumphantly. “I found two for us,” he declared, handing one to Greg. “It’s already set on the correct channel so we’ll be able to communicate with just each other.”

“Perfect, thanks,” Greg thanked him, taking the radio. “Do you think you can go back in there and guide me using the cameras?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Shappey confirmed with a firm, probably more confident than he felt, nod. “I’ll reset the system while you go through the door on the other side of the stairs.”

“On my way,” Greg declared before turning to walk past the stairs and through the door on the other side of the stairs that he hadn’t noticed earlier. 

Lady Smallwood was taking care of organizing the emergency services, their only real chance of being able to reach Sherlock and John in time. It was Greg’s responsibility now to take care of the other Holmes who needed their help right now.  
___

The entire time Greg walked along the hallways being guided by Shappey, his mind was spinning with all the possible conditions he would find Mycroft in. Even the little Greg knew of what had happened before he and Lady Smallwood arrived was enough to form worst case scenarios. He was honestly afraid of what Mycroft, Sherlock, and John could have suffered through.

Now walking down a long white hallway with a very secure looking metal door at the other end, Greg was about to come face to face with the truth. He was thankful for Shappey’s help because honestly he would not have found his way down here on his own with all the hallways and lifts between the control room and this section.

There were probably supposed to be guards on the door, but apparently they’d all disappeared. Yet when Greg was a few steps from the door it slid open on its own to reveal a little of the room beyond. 

Stepping through the doorway Greg found himself in what must be a typical cell for this section. There was a wide floor-to-ceiling wall of three panes of glass several feet ahead of him with notices of ‘Maintain Distance of Three Feet’ stenciled on each pane. On the other side of the glass was a large semi-circular room with grey wall panels, a white tiled floor, and soft white lighting from above. Off to the left side of the room was a seat and table fastened to the wall (hopefully just a precaution), and on the opposite side was what must pass as a bed. Other than the furniture, the entire room was mostly empty.

Greg looked carefully around the cell, thinking how horrible it would be confined in a space like this for most of your life. Then he noticed Mycroft lying on his side on the floor near the bed. And from this distance he couldn’t tell if Mycroft was breathing.

All other thoughts promptly disappeared until he could only think about getting to Mycroft.

He rushed up to the glass and carefully stretched out his hand. There had to be a way inside the room since somehow Mycroft was inside. All Greg had to do was to find the trick behind it. 

Then his hand kept moving forward instead of meeting glass; it was just an illusion.

With that last barrier disproved Greg rushed forward, stepped over the frame devoid of glass, up onto the raised floor of the cell, and hurried across the floor stopping where Mycroft was lying unmoving.

Greg knew he should check to make sure Mycroft was still alive, instead of just hoping it was true. First he found himself visibly checking Mycroft over, searching for any physical injuries the man had suffered. Thankfully all he found was that apparently the Holmes brothers dressed up even to sneak into a top-secret, secure prison.

After the following wave of relief Greg found the courage to reach down and try to touch Mycroft.

~~~~~~

Mycroft had been startled awake by the noise of the door opening to whatever room he had been left in for the next step of his sister's plans.

He didn't know if a friend or an enemy was entering, he had little reason to trust either. So Mycroft remained carefully, warily, still; listening and depending on his other senses to gather all the information he could about his surroundings and his visitor.

Mycroft realized it was cold, shivering in just his shirtsleeves; the newcomer’s unfamiliar tread echoed faintly in the small space, even through the blistering headache and fog smothering his mind.

The stranger swiftly crossed the room, barely pausing at the threshold to survey the interior of the room. Mycroft continued to remain still as the footsteps headed directly from behind him for where he was lying on the floor. It was tempting to turn over and possibly even manage to struggle upright to face his visitor directly. But that would likely destroy the element of surprise Mycroft had gained, and he wasn't entirely certain if he could manage the effort of moving from his current prone position.

So Mycroft waited silently as the footsteps finally came to a hesitant stop near his head. After several seconds of quiet, nervous breathing, the visitor’s next move was betrayed by rustling fabric.

Mycroft mentally counted the seconds, calculated the trajectory of the man's arm, and predicted the exact moment he needed to move.

And at that exact, decisive moment, Mycroft did. Ignoring the aching in his head, the pain of which became even worse the moment he moved, Mycroft reached out to grab hold of the man's reaching hand.

It was exactly where he'd expected it would be, so Mycroft gripped the hand tightly and shifted his thumb to press down on the pressure point he knew was there.

After he heard the man cry out in pain, feeling a brief spark of determination at the sound, Mycroft let his training take over. He tugged the man down onto his knees, using the momentum to shift himself upright at the same time. Mycroft had meant to eventually get to his feet, giving himself a better advantage. But even just shifting from lying down to up onto his knees was enough to bring on a wave of nausea and prickling pain crawling across his scalp.

Even as his transport failed him, Mycroft knew he needed to have his questions answered as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence right now. So he forced the pain to the back of his mind and did his best to ignore it.

Instead he focused on the man in front of him who would hopefully have helpful information. The man was on his knees, one arm twisted behind his back in Mycroft's tight grip. To ensure the man wouldn’t try to escape and would properly answer his questions, Mycroft leaned forward and wrapped his arm securely around the man's neck.

The man did put up a struggle a little, at first, but not enough to get away. When Mycroft’s arm slipped around his neck the man went completely still. Which Mycroft took as a sign to begin his questioning.

“I have some questions for you, and you will answer every one.” Mycroft tightened his grip on the man’s hand. “I’ve yet to decide whether you will leave this room alive or not.”

“Christ, Mycroft, all right,” the man responded, his voice rough with what Mycroft expected was pain. “Just ask already.”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar but through the fog overwhelming his thought process he wasn’t able to place it. “Tell me where they are now, where did she take them?”

“We’re not sure,” the man answered willingly, perhaps a little too much so. Shouldn’t the guards be more reluctant to share information? Even if they weren’t under his sister’s persuasion, Sherlock, John, and himself hadn’t done anything to gain the trust of anyone at this facility. Especially given the betrayal of the governor.

But perhaps even so, this man’s willingness to talk was a good thing.

Mycroft gritted his teeth and shoved aside his irritatingly circular thoughts. This was not the time for his mind to begin failing him as well. “What are you sure of, then?” he asked irritably.

Within the confine of Mycroft’s arm the man turned his face into the crook of Mycroft’s elbow. It was strange the man wasn’t fighting against him, but knew enough to turn his head to take the pressure off his throat. Most of the guards in this facility seemed to be chosen more for strength and experience than intelligence. A fact made even more obvious by how easily his sister appeared to have manipulated everyone into her control.

“Hey, Mycroft are you alright?” The man questioned, sounding strangely worried about him. It niggled something in his mind, in the same way a pestering thought made him think he was missing something obvious.

So Mycroft chose to ignore the question. “You haven’t answered my question. What do you know about where my brother and John Watson are? Tell me everything.”

“All I know is a technician heard her say she was taking them home, back to where everything started,” the man offered, calm again. “She must have convinced someone to help her put them into a helicopter and fly it wherever she wanted.”

“How long ago was this?” Mycroft demanded impatiently, twisting the man’s arm again slightly. “How much time have I missed?”

Home would mean Musgrave to Eurus, of course. It was the only home she had ever known, and it was also where everything had started going horribly wrong.

A helicopter would be the fastest and most direct way there, but he had to know exactly how far of a head start his sister had given herself to do as she liked with Sherlock and John. Musgrave was just far enough away for Eurus to stage the final step in her plan as she liked. He could only desperately hope, despite not believing in a higher power, that he would be in time if he was able to leave soon.

“I don’t know, Mycroft, we only landed in the last twenty minutes,” the man explained, shrugging slightly with great difficulty. “Lady Smallwood’s only told me what I need to know.”

Lady Smallwood; how was she involved? She knew about Sherrinford and Eurus, of course. Elizabeth had been alongside him from the very beginning of their respective government careers. She was the singular person he trusted more than anyone else in the government. It was why he had told her about the plan to infiltrate Sherrinford. But she wasn’t supposed to have followed them.

“Where is Lady Smallwood now? I need a helicopter to go after them.” It was awhile since he’d last flown a helicopter (and that day at Appledore was not one he would forget soon). But if anything he knew his way to Musgrave by heart.

“You aren’t going anywhere, Mycroft. Not on your own,” the man currently in Mycroft’s hold insisted. “Just-”

In the following seconds all Mycroft knew for certain was that one moment he had his arm around the man's throat and an arm twisted behind his back; then the next his arm had been pulled away from the man’s neck and down to his side while the man’s arm twisted up and over his head as he used the movement to turn around and face Mycroft.

When his lagging brain managed to catch up to what had happened- far too slow, what on earth was wrong with him?- Mycroft blinked slowly and tried to decide what to do next.

The man stayed kneeling opposite him, rubbing the hand Mycroft had injured. He didn’t say or try to move again.

For some reason Mycroft’s vision had blurred slightly after the unexpected movement and even the dim lighting in the cell- likely Eurus’ given her sense of humor- wasn’t helping. He didn’t rub at his eyes, a show of weakness, but rapid blinking did slowly help to correct the blurriness.

As soon as it was better, even in his current state of mind, details about the man currently kneeling opposite him began making themselves known. Only a handful of years older than himself, grey hair (natural hasn’t recently attempted to dye it), near permanent stress and worry lines etched into his expression, wrinkles around the corners of his dark brown eyes from squinting at a computer screen, skin pale from long hours indoors in poor lighting, and now… staring at Mycroft, those worry lines deepening each second Mycroft remained silent while the other man didn’t speak.

That niggling in the back of his mind intensified, gaining strength in unison with yet another wave of pain.

Don’t just look at the details, combine them into the bigger picture; there’s something there, you’re missing something. Figure it out. Ignore the pain.

He was close, very close; just-

“Mycroft? You all right?”

With the addition of the ever more familiar voice the world suddenly shifted back into its correct alignment. Even with the distraction of the pain everything made sense again and he was finally aware of what was happening. Or most of what was happening.

“Lestrade? Why are you here? Why would Lady Smallwood bring you along?”

Relief spread quickly across the Detective Inspector's face, the worry lines disappearing in place of a faint smile curling the man’s mouth. “That’s better; I thought you’d forgotten who I was the way you greeted me.”

“Ah, I do apologize for my… severe… reaction,” Mycroft attempted to apologize calmly, ignoring his still hammering heart. Now that he knew it had been Lestrade he’d attacked and not a guard, Mycroft found himself having to ignore strong feelings of guilt as well.

Which was ridiculous seeing as Lestrade wasn’t meant to be here, or to even know about this facility. “I didn’t expect you,” he offered, somewhat weakly.

“Right, well, I didn’t expect you to incapacitate me like that,” Lestrade replied with a sharp self-deprecating laugh. He experimentally rolled the shoulder Mycroft had twisted. “I guess we’ve all had our share of surprises today.”

Far more than the Detective Inspector could know. “My duty as a civil servant has not always been carried out from behind a desk, Lestrade,” Mycroft replied cryptically, only just skirting the surface of memories he would much rather stay deeply buried. He’d had enough of rekindled memories and ghosts for the day. “We all have a past.”

The lines around Lestrade’s eyes began slowly reappearing, making their humor stand out even more. “And the sky is blue, the grass is green.”

Mycroft frowned at the very odd response; perhaps he’d accidentally cut off Lestrade’s air supply and left the man deprived of oxygen.

Lestrade laughed warmly at whatever expression was on Mycroft’s face at the moment. “I just mean,” he quickly said, holding up a hand, “Of course everyone has a past. It’s what makes us human. Especially if it’s a past we’d like to forget.”

Mycroft pressed his lips together tightly at the Detective Inspector’s pointed comment, experiencing another sharp wave of emotion. He didn’t enjoy being human; he didn’t want to be like the common people with all of their shortcomings. However, after today he didn’t prefer the absolute alternative either.

Out of a long standing habit he’d never managed to completely break, his hand wandered down to start twisting the ring of Uncle Rudy’s he’d taken to always wearing. Uncle Rudy had left it to him, giving it to Mycroft in his last moments. So now Mycroft treasured it as a memento of his late Uncle, and a reminder.

He noticed Lestrade’s eyes drift down to watch his obvious fidgeting. But the other man didn’t comment on it. Instead Lestrade said, “Except most people don’t have a top secret secure isolated facility available.”

Mycroft knew there was a real possibility Lestrade had meant his remark to be humorous. But after all that had happened today it was hard to take anything in good humor. 

“Not as secure as we were led to believe,” Mycroft responded shortly. “Now everyone has been put at risk. Especially Sherlock and John.”

“And you,” Lestrade pointed out sternly, as if Mycroft needed the reminder. “You haven’t exactly escaped unharmed.”

Mycroft offered an unconvinced sound in response but didn’t remark further. In the back of his mind he knew something was wrong. The rolling waves of nausea had finally subsided, thankfully. But the pounding in his head hadn’t become any better. It was still there, hampering him.

“The two of them are yet in more danger than I am at the moment,” Mycroft pointed out sharply, gaze cutting towards the open door. “They’re solely at her mercy for whatever she chooses to do to them.”

“They’ve survived quite a lot already,” Lestrade commented quietly, likely thinking of everything Sherlock and John had suffered lately and even before Sherlock’s time away.

“She can devise even worse,” Mycroft replied, silently wincing from unwanted memories of all his sister had accomplished even when they were young. “She has had many years to manufacture her revenge.”

He heard Lestrade mutter quietly, “What about all that’s been done to the three of you?” But Mycroft dismissed it almost immediately after hearing him. Pointing the blame wasn’t important at the moment, it was all long past.

They were quickly running out of time, working against the countdown his sister had created for them all.

In order to begin things moving again Mycroft attempted to climb to his feet. He ignored the luckily brief wave of nausea created by the movement. But as soon as he went to shift his weight onto his leg it promptly seized and gave out from under him.

A cry escaped his lips before Mycroft could prevent it as he nearly fell gracelessly back to the ground. After years of therapy and running the government from behind a desk (and being very successful at it), it was now his old injury chose to bother him again.

Thankfully Lestrade was quick enough to grab Mycroft’s arm and save him the embarrassment. Mycroft didn’t usually like being touched; there was no reason for it. But he was grateful to Lestrade for helping him.

“T-thank you,” Mycroft managed to say, lacking his usual grace. 

A moment later he shrugged off Lestrade’s supporting hand and tried to stand on his own again. Only for his leg to still painfully refuse to support him. A resulting shooting pain traveled up from his foot and through the entire length of his leg.

A hissing noise escaped his lips this time, unavoidable with the still increasing pain. He was left standing with all his weight on his other leg while Lestrade gripped his arm, helping keep him on his feet.

“I know you probably won’t like this idea, but I don’t think you can make it very far without some help,” Lestrade offered with an attempt at diplomacy that Mycroft appreciated but didn’t think necessary. At least he was being honest, as much as Mycroft did in fact dislike the idea.

“Are you offering?” Mycroft asked just to clarify. He accidently shifted, causing another wave of pain in his leg and quietly hissed again.

Lestrade’s mouth twitched slightly as he shifted his hold on Mycroft’s arm. “I think that’s the only way we’ll make it anywhere. Especially since we’re in a rush.”

That reminded Mycroft of a question he still wanted answered. “You told me you and Lady Smallwood arrived in the last twenty minutes or so. Have you sent anyone to Musgrave? They need support as soon as possible. They can't be left on their own.”

Lestrade guided him into taking several cautious steps forward. It was more of a shuffle than a walk, and Lestrade was taking most of his weight, but at least they were moving forward.

“Lady Smallwood sent an emergency team after them as soon as we found out where they’d gone,” Lestrade explained as they reached the open door. “They’re already on their way, Mycroft. It will be fine.”

Mycroft hummed quietly, not sharing Lestrade’s confidence. He had to force himself to focus on slowly moving forward past the doorway and into the hallway, shuffling forward beside Lestrade.

Mycroft knew he could trust Lady Smallwood to know what she was doing by sending an emergency team after Sherlock and John. If they could reach Musgrave in time, this might just end well after all.

~~~~~~

By the time he and Mycroft finally arrived in the control room Greg was determined that no matter how much Mycroft protested, the man would only be leaving to go somewhere with medical professionals to look after him.

They'd only managed a few hallways before Mycroft was quietly but breathlessly requesting they stop for just a minute. It wasn't far, now Greg knew the way, but they stopped a few more times. Both when Mycroft asked and when Greg decided to.

When they finally not quite stumbled back into the control room, Greg was carrying most of Mycroft’s weight and even though Mycroft wasn’t making any sounds his pained expression said more than enough. Greg didn’t know exactly what had happened to Mycroft in this horrible place, but as soon as they all left this island the better.

As they stepped inside the control room Mycroft managed to lift his head, his hand tightening on Greg’s shoulder to the point where Greg was the one gritting his teeth. They both looked over to where Lady Smallwood was standing by the other hallway, talking to the two men in black with very serious expressions.

“Elizabeth,” Mycroft attempted to call out, but his voice came out as more of a croak.

Mycroft cleared his throat, and Greg winced at the painful sound. But before he could call out to her, Lady Smallwood turned slightly and caught sight of them. Even across the room Greg saw her eyes widen at how awful they probably looked.

“Oh dear,” Mycroft murmured nearly in Greg’s ear, sounding an uniquely Holmesian mixture of amused and worried. Greg glanced over at him as Lady Smallwood started walking over to them as quickly as her heels allowed.

“Just remember, we’re the rescue team,” Greg reminded him trying to force a little humor in his voice. Not to make light of the situation but Mycroft probably needed to take his mind off of how much pain he was in right now. “She’s on our side.”

Mycroft attempted to shift slightly, but Greg could feel his entire body flinch when that inevitably hurt. Greg tried to help, taking all of Mycroft’s weight as the man leaned fully against him and off of his injured leg. It was only a matter of time before Mycroft would have to give up on staying upright.

“Mycroft Holmes,” Lady Smallwood greeted forebodingly, crossing her arms over her chest. She treated him to a careful full-body sweep in one glance. “Busy day at the office?”

Having absolutely no idea what she was talking about, since they were currently at a top-secret off the map government prison, Greg chose to remain quiet.

It turned out to be the right choice when Mycroft actually smiled, something that Greg knew was exceptionally rare, and replied evenly, “Absolutely calm, in fact.”

At Mycroft’s answer Lady Smallwood visibly relaxed, uncrossing her arms as she treated both Mycroft and Greg to a warm smile. 

“I’m very happy to hear you’re alright.” Her gaze caught on how Greg was more or less solely keeping Mycroft upright. “Relatively speaking. You do seem to have a certain talent for finding yourself in troubling situations.”

“Not as much talent as my brother, as you’re well aware,” Mycroft pointed out dryly, and Greg muffled a laugh because that was at least one obvious similarity between the brothers. “Now that that’s over with, I’d like an update on the current situation.”

Lady Smallwood’s hands settled on her hips as she raised a single eyebrow at him. It was an expression Greg had been on the receiving end from Mycroft often enough, and made him wonder who had learned it from whom.

“I’m sure you would,” Lady Smallwood answered after a slight pause. “Unfortunately information is coming in slowly. I don’t have much more than when the Detective Inspector left to find you.” Her gaze cut across to Greg, eyes softening as one corner of her mouth curved slightly upwards. “And I’m sure he’s already shared everything he knows with you.”

“In some detail yes,” Mycroft agreed with a faint answering smile. “However I would appreciate an update. I need to know exactly what is happening.”

“Of course,” Lady Smallwood nodded faintly as if this was perfectly normal and not Mycroft being… Mycroft. 

“We have confirmed Eurus took your brother and John Watson away in a helicopter to Musgrave. A special team is on the way there now and will notify me when they arrive. I've also readied a helicopter that is currently waiting on the roof to follow them.”

She treated him to a very quick unimpressed sweeping glance, taking in his injured and very disheveled state. “I've also requested a medical evac team be on standby, which appears to be excellent foresight on my part.”

“As I have told the Detective Inspector and as I have indicated to you, Elizabeth, I am perfectly well.” Mycroft insisted in a firm tone that Greg at least would find it hard to argue with. He suspected it was the same tone Mycroft used with politicians who were being slow in coming around to agreeing with him. “There is no need for a medical team.”

Lady Smallwood lifted a skeptical eyebrow at him. Her gaze darted over to Greg just as he was attempting to shift a little under Mycroft’s weight. The man honestly wasn't heavy but the slight height difference was making it a bit uncomfortable. Lady Smallwood treated him to an insightful stare before she asked, “Would you agree with Mycroft, Detective Inspector?”

Greg quickly shook his head, remembering Mycroft's drastic reaction when Greg had tried to touch him down in the cell. Even after years of being a police officer and experiencing assaults on his person, Greg would have never expected Mycroft to be able to pull him to his knees and get an arm around his throat before Greg had fully realized what was happening. 

That was not the reaction of a man who was in a healthy condition or mindset. Even if he hadn't witnessed that, Greg would still be worried by the limp Mycroft was trying and failing to hide. Greg had been the one supporting Mycroft's weight for most of their journey from the cell, and right now he wasn't sure if he let go Mycroft would be able to stay upright.

“Honestly Elizabeth,” Mycroft said snappishly, sounding as if his temper was finally coming close to fraying. “There is no time now to debate this. My health is absolutely unimportant compared to what I fear is happening at this very moment at Musgrave. All that matters is we leave now in order to arrive in time to prevent further harm.”

“I hope you're not insinuating that I am idiotic enough to believe you, and therefore allow you to accompany me to Musgrave,” Lady Smallwood replied in the same overly polite tone. “Because that will not be happening.”

Mycroft took a step forward, surprising Greg with the sudden movement. He had to readjust his hold on Mycroft so the other man would remain standing. “I will not allow you to stop me, Elizabeth. I am going to Musgrave and will do whatever I can to save my brother and John Watson.”

Greg absently noticed Mycroft didn't mention anything about his sister. He stepped forward after Mycroft and tugged lightly on his arm to draw the other man's attention. “You’re not going, Mycroft. You know you're in no shape to rush after them.”

Mycroft laughed sharply, more of a bark than a laugh. It was a sound Greg had heard from Sherlock in his darker moments, back in the days of his frequent drug fueled manic periods when Sherlock was all sharp edges and no ability for patience or understanding. But he had never heard it from Mycroft before. “And you believe you can stop me, Lestrade?”

“If he cannot then I will,” Lady Smallwood interrupted before Mycroft or Greg could speak. She stepped forward and lightly placed a hand on Mycroft's arm, which he didn't attempt to shrug off. “I'll have the medical team meet us and accompany you to the nearest hospital. You need to be looked after, Mycroft.”

Mycroft made a harsh scoffing noise to show his disbelief. “And Sherlock and John Watson? What about them?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I'll go.” Greg decided without even thinking or considering it first. “I'll make sure they're alright.”

Mycroft turned back to look at him, obviously surprised before quickly shuttering into the impassive expression he typically wore.

In the silence Mycroft pulled his arm from Greg’s grip and attempted to stand on his own. He was mostly successful; but Greg saw him flinch in pain and saw the way his leg trembled as he tried to put more weight on it to stay upright.

Mycroft didn't say anything, and Greg didn't think it would do any good to point it out. So he just stood and tried to withstand Mycroft's intense stare that even outmatched Sherlock's at his harshest.

Lady Smallwood helpfully didn't say anything at all; she just looked between them, watching.

Greg waited, fighting his restlessness as the silence continued; even with time not on their side he knew better than to press Mycroft. He didn't want to force Mycroft into refusing. 

Greg rapidly tried to think of how he could remind Mycroft of his history of trustworthiness. Of course, words were more Mycroft (and Sherlock's) specialty. So maybe he should remind Mycroft how much he had already done for Sherlock, and how he had looked after Sherlock (and John later) for years.

He'd been the first one to stumble across Sherlock on a crime scene and hadn’t sent the boy away after hearing his theories and noticing his ‘condition’. He’d given Sherlock cold cases to push him through rehab and then once he was clean started consulting him regularly on cases. He’d also even managed to survive (mostly) working with Sherlock all these years.

And maybe he hadn't been anywhere near his best just before and during Sherlock's fake suicide. But his life had also collapsed as Moriarty’s web drew tighter around Sherlock and successfully pulled them all in. Later followed by the wave of relief he'd felt when Sherlock announced his return by literally dramatically stepping out of the shadows.

After all of that he still might not officially be family, but wasn't he something close by now?

Remembering those years and events he didn't often take the time or want to dwell on, brought to mind an old code phrase he and Mycroft had used back during Sherlock's drug days. For those danger nights when he kept his mobile close at hand and slept lightly just in case he received a call in the middle of the night and needed to rush over to-

“Montague Street.”

Lady Smallwood likely also understood the not so ambiguous code phrase; actually it was probably obvious considering how well she and Mycroft seemed to know each other.

But Greg only wanted Mycroft's reaction.

Mycroft exhaled quietly as finally something flickered deep in his eyes. He dipped his head in what could possibly be recognized as a distant cousin of a nod and straightened. “Very well, Lestrade. I accept your proposition.”

Greg exhaled slowly with relief, not hiding it very well. For a moment he wondered just how much Mycroft's injury and condition was affecting the man if Greg could read the usually inscrutable man this easily. “Good. That's- thanks. I promise I'll look after them. No matter what I find.”

“I know that you will,” Mycroft replied in an absolutely serious voice. And with those five honest words Greg came to the shocking realization that Mycroft Holmes might just actually trust him.

“Excellent, now that has been settled,” Lady Smallwood interrupted, stopping them from confessing anything else. But she did look quite pleased. “Mycroft, you and I will be taking the helicopter with the medical team onboard to take us somewhere you can be checked over. The Detective Inspector will be taking the helicopter we arrived in, with an escort of course, to Musgrave.”

“I'm not about to argue with you,” Greg told her in what he personally felt was a very smart decision. If Mycroft Holmes listened to Lady Smallwood then Greg could as well. “I’ll get to Musgrave as fast as I can.”

“And you will remain in constant contact with us; I will be expecting frequent updates with any new information,” Mycroft declared sternly, as if there would be no questions about it. He turned to face Greg again even as his leg started visibly shaking. “Especially about my brother and John Watson. No matter how inconsequential it may seem.”

“Of course,” Greg promised nodding. “As often as I can. You'll be flooded with text messages from me every few minutes.”

He was half-joking, Greg didn't expect he'd have enough to update Mycroft that often. But better to be safe than sorry. And though neither of them would say it, it was the least Greg could do for the other man since Mycroft was willingly giving up going after his brother and John himself.

Mycroft's lips pressed tightly together, looking conflicted. He didn't say anything for a long moment until finally sighing, the creases around his eyes disappearing briefly. “I suppose that wouldn't be entirely unwelcome.”

“You may need your mobile returned first,” Lady Smallwood suggested, the sound of her voice causing Greg and Mycroft to break eye contact to look over at her. 

She pulled Greg's mobile from her pocket where she'd stashed it. “Here,” Lady Smallwood held it out to him. “You won't be able to use it until we leave this place of course.”

Greg took his long-lost mobile from her and slid it into one of his own pockets to use once he left. Hopefully his battery still had some charge. “Thanks.”

One of the guards Lady Smallwood had been talking to when he and Mycroft came in walked briskly over to them then sharply turned to address Lady Smallwood.

“Ma’am, the second helicopter is about to touch down on the roof. The medical team you requested is aboard.”

“Excellent, thank you James. We will go meet them now.” Lady Smallwood thanked the suited agent with a pleased smile.

“I'll expect you and Smith to take control of this facility and inspect it thoroughly. Once you're finished I expect a complete and comprehensive report on my desk. Sherrinford will no longer be permitted to function separately from government oversight.” She glanced quickly over to Mycroft as she declared, “This will not happen again.”

“Yes ma’am,” the suit replied smartly. He turned to glance questioningly at Greg and Mycroft, who didn’t look their best at the moment, but addressed his question to Lady Smallwood, “Will you be requiring assistance ma’am?”

“I think we'll manage,” Lady Smallwood answered dryly with only a slight smile.

Mycroft faintly indicated his agreement, but Greg could see even more just how much pain he was in filtering through the other man's expression. Mycroft was still managing to more or less stand on his own two feet; for exactly how long Greg wasn't sure. But they only had to make it to the helicopters on the roof.

They left the two agents behind to follow through on Lady Smallwood’s orders while the three of them slowly made their way back through the maze of hallways and up to the roof.

A little more than halfway through their journey, or at least what Greg hoped was halfway, Mycroft suddenly misstepped and nearly fell sideways into him. Without thinking Greg reached out to grip Mycroft's upper arm and keep him upright or at least stable. Lady Smallwood didn’t break her stride at all.

Mycroft didn't say anything, but he seemed to accept Greg's help willingly enough. Or he didn’t verbally refuse it. And with Greg’s support Mycroft only slightly limped the rest of the way, setting a perfectly slow pace Greg was rather glad for.

The two helicopters they were expecting were indeed on the roof, the rotors circling slowly. From inside one of the helicopters three men from the medical team Lady Smallwood had requested appeared. One carried a med kit while the other two quickly hurried to halfway across the landing pad where Greg had managed to completely support Mycroft.

They took Mycroft away from him, supporting Mycroft's weight from either side. With Mycroft's arms over their shoulders the two medics helped him over to the helicopter they'd appeared from, carefully keeping weight off his leg.

Lady Smallwood had walked off to talk to the pilot of the other helicopter, the one Greg would be flying in, so Greg quickly followed after Mycroft and the medics.

By the time he caught up to them Mycroft was already seated in the back of the helicopter nearest the door. One of the medics was next to him checking his vitals while the other medic sitting across from them was checking Mycroft's leg.

When Greg appeared at the door the medic closest to him turned away from Mycroft to shake his head and stretched out his arm to prevent Greg from entering. “Sorry, sir!” The man yelled over the increasing roar as the rotors started circling faster. “We can't take you! We have direct orders to go directly to the nearest hospital.”

Even over the growing roar from the rotors Greg could hear Mycroft make a disapproving noise before leaning over and past the medic, which the other medic working on his leg didn't seem to appreciate.

“There's no need for you to worry Lestrade, I'm perfectly safe in the hands of these two gentlemen.” Mycroft pressed his lips together and his expression pinched slightly as he glanced over Greg's shoulder at the other waiting helicopter. “Please, go look after my brother and John Watson. Ensure they're safe and well. I trust you to take care of them.”

“I will,” Greg promised, reaching out to lightly grip Mycroft's arm to cement his promise. He hadn't actually expected Mycroft to say that out loud, so it meant a lot. “I'll contact you with an update as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Lestrade,” Mycroft said with a small grateful smile. Then he leaned back, dislodging Greg's hand, to finally let the medics do their work.

“Yes, thank you, Lestrade,” Lady Smallwood echoed from beside Greg, raising her voice to be heard above the noise from both helicopters. She gave him a small nod before moving past him to enter the helicopter and take the last seat.

As soon as she was settled the helicopter took off, slowly gaining altitude as the rotor blades became a blur of white and noise. Greg stood watching until he could barely see it anymore. Then he turned and headed for the helicopter waiting to take him to Musgrave.

\---/----/----

By the time Greg arrived at Musgrave all the excitement seemed to be over already. The helicopter pilot managed to land in a large clearing a ways away from the activity at the scene, leaving Greg to jump out as the helicopter slowly powered down. 

There were police officers and men outfitted in all-black very similar to the agents they’d left at Sherrinford moving around the grounds, lit up by the flashing blue and red of the police car lights. Police vans and cars were parked in a tight horseshoe like shape around what must have once been the Holmes family home. It may have once been a majestic ancient structure, but now it was just a hollow burnt shell of a memory.

Greg didn’t see Sherlock or John at first when he breached the makeshift wall of cars and vans to officially arrive on the scene. But from the organized chaos of officers and agents milling around he came to the conclusion that this was the aftermath of whatever had happened instead of the frenzy of an ending. So Sherlock and John had to be somewhere amongst the chaos, hopefully not doing anything dangerous.

Even with the standing lights illuminating the uneven ground and greenery (were those gravestones he could see rising from the ground closer to the building?) Greg still didn’t see Sherlock or John. So when one of the officers passed him Greg reached out and grabbed the lad’s elbow.

“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, where are they?” The question may have come out slightly harsher than he’d meant it to, but at the moment Greg didn’t have time for patience.

The lad startled at being grabbed, fairly enough trying to pull away. But then he either realized who Greg was or saw his expression, or both. “Over there, sir,” the lad answered, indicating the exact direction with his finger.

“Thanks,” Greg replied a bit distracted, before he released the lad’s arm and started walking quickly in that direction. His footing was sure as he made his way over the ground, and Greg silently congratulated himself on wearing sensible shoes that day.

Further on there were fewer officers and agents milling about Greg had to attempt to dodge, and the flashing lights from the police cars didn’t reach quite this far. But the standing lights did cast a false sense of daylight across the grounds. It was how Greg managed to spot Sherlock and John standing some distance away from the rest of the activity, watching but not engaging with anyone.

Greg slowed his steps as he neared the pair and got his first glimpse of how they were. After Sherlock’s return following his fake suicide, once John forgave Sherlock they’d seemed to return to being as close as they ever were, even with Mary. Of course there’d been a rift but danger and adrenaline always brought them together. Greg couldn’t begin to imagine how this revelation of a forgotten sister and her imprisonment at Sherrinford had affected them.

Sherlock and John were standing very close to each other, either for warmth or comfort or both. Sherlock was only in his shirtsleeves and trousers, without the armor of his suit or the heavy coat he mostly wore in public. (Greg had nothing to say about the silk dressing gowns and expensive pajamas he’d seen when stopping in unexpectedly at Baker Street). It made him look very young, reminiscent of when they’d first stumbled across each other. Especially with the thoughtful, distant look Sherlock currently wore. 

John was also just wearing a shirt and trousers, but had a heavy grey blanket draped around his shoulders. Probably because he’d somehow managed to get completely soaked through since he’d left Sherrinford. It was cold in the near pitch black and night air so the blanket was a good idea to keep him warm. He did look tired, with a bone-deep weariness, which made Greg wonder just how long they’d been tottering on edge.

They were both looking off into the distance away from Greg, so he quickened his pace until he was finally standing in front of them. “You two alright?” He asked hopefully, trying to sound positive.

John was the first to tear his eyes away to greet Greg with a rueful smile. “Define ‘alright.’”

Right, not the best word to use. “Safe, unharmed, or at the very least no fatal injuries?” Greg offered, silently hoping for the best. 

He eyed the thick blanket John was wrapped in, familiar despite not being a vivid eye-blinding orange color. At least someone with some medical knowledge had looked at Sherlock and John in the meantime. He was all too familiar with how awful patients the two could be.

“Would no fatal injuries be acceptable?” John asked with a tired curve of his mouth. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, shifting closer to Sherlock who had remained completely still. “And we’re safe, now.”

Sherlock didn’t try to join or interrupt their conversation, which was strange especially since he hadn’t yet said a single word. Greg had seen Sherlock become completely still before, mostly right before an epiphany about their current case. But this was different.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Greg said with a quiet sigh of relief. They looked alright, but it was another thing to hear it out loud. And see the two of them alive, in person.

He turned slightly to follow Sherlock’s gaze, and with the lights flooding the grounds around them Greg was able to see two police officers several yards away leading a young woman towards the helicopter. They were far enough away that Greg couldn’t make out any distinguishing features; but he could see she was dressed in a long white nightgown and had long dark hair roughly the same color as Sherlock's and similarly pale skin.

Putting that together with the expression on Sherlock's face as he watched the young woman being led away from them, Greg figured she could must be the infamous Holmes sister.

He quickly glanced back to Sherlock, but he was still imitating a statue and not saying anything. When Greg looked to John he was pointedly not looking in that direction.

Obviously Greg had to say something to break the tense silence. But anything concerning the mysterious sister or Musgrave wasn’t safe. Greg probably also shouldn't mention what he had learned at Sherrinford from Mycroft and Lady Smallwood.

Mycroft, of course. Good news about the brother he not so secretly cared for.

“I spoke to your brother,” Greg offered, clearing his throat to effect a casual tone. He crossed his arms across his chest and tried to catch Sherlock's eye.

John turned first to look at Greg with something that looked a lot like worry shadowing his expression. 

It took Sherlock a while longer but he did eventually turn, focusing on Greg to ask, “How is he?”

Greg opened his mouth to reply but then hesitated about what to say. The truth was he didn't actually know how Mycroft was. All he could say for certain was that Mycroft had been alive when he'd left in the helicopter. But he did know how Mycroft behaved at Sherrinford and that it hadn't been ideal.

Did Sherlock really need to know that? Did John? They'd just been put through hell by another Holmes sibling. Did they really need to hear about Mycroft just to worry about him?

Greg finally came to the conclusion that as much as he hated lying to Sherlock, especially after everything the man had been through, it was necessary. And it wouldn't be a lie exactly, just not a complete truth.

“He was just a bit shaken up, that's all,” Greg told them, feeling better at the pure relief of their reactions. Even from John who Greg knew had a tumultuous relationship with Mycroft. “But she didn't hurt him, just locked him in her cell.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly, and for a second Greg panicked he had sensed the incomplete truth. But then John laughed sharply and commented, “What goes around comes around.”

“Right,” Greg replied, thinking of just how true that was. They didn't even know the extent of it.

Sherlock was still studying him carefully but hadn’t called him on the lie. And John was huddling further into his blanket, probably close to shivering. Why they were still standing here in the night talking when there were warm police vans and cars nearby Greg wasn't sure.

“Listen, I'll make sure everything is set here and check they don't need me.” Greg offered, growing more cold and exhausted just looking at the two of them. “Then I'll give you a lift back to Baker Street.” At their mirrored wince he remembered the recent destruction of 221b. “Right, to wherever you want then.”

“Thanks, that would be great, Greg,” John sounded relieved by the idea, even managing a faint smile.

“Give me a moment then,” Greg told the two of them, faintly wondering if he should find another blanket while they waited.

He turned away, planning to walk back towards the busy activity of officers and agents. Once he spoke with someone and made sure Eurus Holmes was safely loaded and secured in a reinforced police van headed directly for somewhere very secure (even more so than Sherrinford) Greg would feel more comfortable leaving with Sherlock and John. The agents and the rest of the officers could handle the rest of the situation.

“Lestrade, uhm,” Sherlock's voice was so uncharacteristically quiet and uncertain that Greg had to turn around. “Mycroft- will you make sure he's looked after? He's not as strong as he believes he is.”

Sherlock's expression was so earnest and worried that for a second Greg flashed back to seeing nearly the exact expression on Mycroft's face (but also coupled with not fully masked pain) as he made Greg promise to look after Sherlock and John.

For all they protested they were different, especially on Sherlock's part, the brothers could be very similar. He had once overheard Sherlock telling John caring wasn't an advantage, but Greg suspected Sherlock didn't adhere to that for even a moment. And neither did Mycroft.

John for his part looked only surprised for a second before he nodded, backing Sherlock's request without any hesitation. What exactly had the three of them been through at Sherrinford at Eurus’ hands to bring them so much closer together?

Tonight seemed to be the day of making promises. Promises that of course he had absolutely every intention of following through on. Especially to Holmeses.

“Yeah, of course I will,” Greg promised, with all the weight he could put behind it. 

He saw a uniformed officer coming towards them looking like he was in a hurry. Hoping nothing else had gone wrong Greg nodded to John and Sherlock, then turned and began walking to meet the officer part way.

“Thanks, Greg,” came Sherlock's quiet voice from behind him.

Not sure he had heard that right, Greg spun around to stare at Sherlock. But instead the man was looking at John instead, who looked just as surprised as Greg felt. Then John laughed and held out one end of the blanket invitingly, allowing Sherlock to crowd in next to him to share the warmth.

Well that was one way of staying warm. Greg smiled at the two of them before he turned to cross paths with the uniformed officer who hopefully wasn't about to tell him everything had gone to shite in the last few minutes.

Thankfully nothing had in fact managed to go wrong. They'd secured Eurus Holmes in the back of the police van where she was remaining put, the helicopter was ready to take her to whatever undisclosed location the agents had chosen, and the agent in charge was formally taking over the scene.

Which meant once Greg confirmed all of this, he was free to take one of the police cars and drive Sherlock and John back into London where hopefully they could put this entire nightmare behind them.

Though Greg had no idea how they would even begin trying to do that. And he knew he'd barely been told all that had happened at Sherrinford. At least John and Sherlock had each other now and all they'd already managed to survive would last for the rest of their lives.

Mycroft on the other hand, who really knew. Greg knew very little about the man but he had witnessed firsthand how much Mycroft cared about his brother.

Once Sherlock finally fell asleep in the back, eventually followed by John, Greg was tempted to contact Mycroft or Lady Smallwood to let them know John and Sherlock were all right. But by now Mycroft was likely in with a doctor and Greg didn't want to interrupt that. So instead he just sent a quick text to Mycroft, reassuring him everything was fine.

Hopefully they could all find comfort knowing Eurus was permanently and securely locked away this time. So now they could all begin to heal and start over yet again. Perhaps even more successfully this time.

\---/----/----


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Greg gets a somewhat rude awakening and events get off to a fairly rough start...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Remember this story? I know it’s been awhile!
> 
> But here’s an update finally! Thanks especially to eys93 for their patience, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (I’m hoping future updates will be more frequent)
> 
> And of course thanks to pipmer who kindly read this over for me at very short notice and wrangled my commas!

Of course this particular morning his sleep was very rudely disturbed by the irritating ringing of his mobile only hours after he’d finally collapsed into bed.

Greg tried to turn his head towards his bedside table where he’d tossed his mobile just before collapsing onto his all-too welcoming mattress. But his cheek stuck a little to his pillow, leaving him only able to stretch out his arm.

It felt like barely minutes had passed since his late night turned early morning rescue involving the Holmes brothers and John Watson; he was not ready for any emergencies that required leaving his bed.

And yet his mobile continued to ring. Which meant Greg was forced to muster enough energy to lift his head and open his eyes.

He lasted only long enough to snatch his mobile off the table and swipe a finger across the screen to answer.

Greg’s brief glimpse of his room told him that yes, there was daylight somewhere beyond those curtains, but it wasn’t bright enough to suggest it was very late in the morning.

Holding the phone to his ear, Greg managed a not too entirely muffled or sleepy sounding, “Lestrade, speaking.”

“I apologize for disturbing your rest, Lestrade,” Lady Smallwood greeted, actually sounding apologetic.

Realizing just who was on the other end, Greg forced his eyes open again and turned over onto his back. This would require him to actually hold a proper conversation.

“Morning Lady Smallwood,” Greg greeted after a brief pause while he tried to get his still sleepy brain to form words. “‘M a bit surprised to hear from you.”

“I did promise I would keep you updated, Lestrade,” Lady Smallwood reminded him, not unkindly. 

Greg could make out muffled voices in the background from her end but couldn’t understand them. “Unfortunately this is the soonest I was able to contact you with an update,” Lady Smallwood added as if she wished she could have called him even sooner.

“That’s fine,” Greg said, still waking up. He pushed himself upright until he was more or less sitting. “I hope you have good news?”

“As good as can be expected,” Lady Smallwood offered, but this news was not as reassuring as Greg had hoped for.

“But Mycroft is all right?” Greg asked, before she could say anything else.

He’d already personally made sure that Sherlock and John were both alright, safe, and together, even if for once not at Baker Street. But the last Greg’d seen of Mycroft was as Lady Smallwood and the medics helped him into a helicopter, with Mycroft barely able to disguise just how much pain he was in.

“He’s as well as he possibly can be, given the situation,” Lady Smallwood promised, her voice clearer now the others had faded away. “The doctor said he will recover, but it will be difficult. They’re in discussing the recovery plan with Mycroft now.”

After a moment Lady Smallwood murmured quietly, before Greg could ask another question, “His temper, will hopefully also improve.”

Greg, who couldn’t remember ever seeing Mycroft Holmes be anything other than calm, collected, and authoritative (not including what had happened at Sherrinford), couldn’t at all imagine him in a temper. Sherlock in a temper, or a strop, was traumatic enough.

“You’ve talked to the doctor then,” Greg replied with a slight sigh as he gave up on sleep for the day. He shuffled over to the side of the bed and swung his legs over. “What else did he say?”

“You may not be surprised to hear that Mycroft was more severely injured than he let on.” Lady Smallwood sounded oddly chagrined by this, unlike the annoyance Greg had expected and felt himself. But really, what could you expect from a Holmes?

“Not anything life-threatening, I promise. But his full recovery will still take significantly longer, according to the doctor,” Lady Smallwood explained. “For as long as I have known him Mycroft has never considered taking care of himself a priority. I’ve had to scold him for it many times.”

She exhaled quietly, a breath of air in his ear. “Perhaps finally this time he will see reason.”

Greg leaned forward, propping his chin in his hand. “Exactly how severe were his injuries?” He started to knead at his forehead with one hand.

“Enough that the doctor is requiring Mycroft to stay in hospital for a full twenty-four hours, for observation purposes.” Lady Smallwood shared quietly, “I can only hope Mycroft will in fact stay for that entire period.”

“That sounds pretty serious,” Greg sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t envy him at all. But after that’s over he can recover at home?”

“Ah, yes, well,” Lady Smallwood cleared her throat, just as Greg began to stand up. “That was another reason for my calling.”

Greg took a deep breath, mentally bracing himself for what the Holmes brothers had involved him in now. “I’m listening.”

“The doctor has informed me that given Mycroft’s injuries and his condition, once he is released from hospital someone will still need to stay with him during his recovery.”

A worrying suspicion of what she was about to ask crept up on him. “Well I’m sure if you ask Sherlock or John they’ll agree… eventually,” Greg suggested, the words coming out in a bit of a rush. “Or maybe his parents would be willing.”

Greg had never met Sherlock and Mycroft’s parents, but he’d built up an idea of them for as long as he’d known the brothers. Whether he was right or not Greg was sure they’d be willing to come take care of their injured son.

“I’m afraid neither are possible options,” Lady Smallwood quickly but politely crushed his hopes. “Sherlock and Doctor Watson are taking care of themselves, at least one can hope, and Mycroft refuses to see his parents.”

“So, what, I’m your last option?” Greg knew he probably wasn’t doing very well at masking his irritation. 

“Listen, I wasn’t expecting to go to Sherrinford or Musgrave. But I am glad I was there. Don’t really want to think about what could have happened otherwise. This though is a bit… outside my division, really.”

When Lady Smallwood didn’t comment, Greg slowly took a look around his familiar small and lonely flat. “How would it even work?”

“Our final option, perhaps,” Lady Smallwood said thoughtfully, “But the right one. Don’t ever tell Mycroft, but I believe you might be just the person he needs. Especially at this difficult time. And of course, your line of work is also beneficial.” 

Well, that was unexpected. Greg took everything Lady Smallwood had said with a touch of doubt, but then again she knew Mycroft much better than he did.

After what was probably an unnecessarily long pause Greg managed, “Yes, well; thanks.”

“You understand then why, given recent events, you’ve been declared Mycroft’s designated ‘carer’ for the foreseeable future.”

Someone up there was playing a very cruel joke by completely turning his life upside down without a care.

He’d been honest when he told Lady Smallwood he hadn’t expected to be taken to Sherrinford or Musgrave. He was usually kept away from the high clearance and government related cases, especially if Mycroft was involved. And while this entire situation was definitely classified, it was also very personal for Mycroft. 

Greg honestly hadn’t even expected to hear from Lady Smallwood again. He thought he’d be left alone to go on with his life. Yet here she was, calling and asking him to look after Mycroft Holmes of all people.

“I think I misheard you, did you just say you’ve had me declared as Mycroft Holmes’ ‘carer,’?” Greg asked, struggling to sound politely disbelieving instead of how incredulous he actually felt.

Lady Smallwood just laughed sympathetically at his response. “I understand this is not what you were expecting, Detective Inspector. However, given the current situation-”

“And Mycroft actually agreed to this?” Greg interrupted, unable to stop himself. “He’s fine with me,” he paused, trying to find the right way to say this, “being put in that position for him?”

“It took some discussion, parts of which became rather heated, but yes,” Lady Smallwood said in what Greg suspected was the more diplomatic answer. “He’s come to agree that you are the best and honestly only option.”

Right, Greg thought with a fair bit of skepticism. At least it sounded like Mycroft was as uncertain about this as Greg was. They didn’t know each other very well yet they were about to live together for who knew how long.

“Well I suppose everything’s been decided then,” Greg sighed, feeling the weight of what he was agreeing to settling on his shoulders.

Running his fingers through his hair, which probably needed a trim soon, Greg tried to be practical. “When am I supposed to take over?”

“As I mentioned, the doctor is requiring Mycroft stay twenty-four hours for observation. Once the doctor decides Mycroft is allowed to go home then you would meet him there,” Lady Smallwood directed. “After that looking after him will be your responsibility. And I wish you the best of luck.”

Greg chose to hold off thinking that over for later. “What else did the doctor say about his recovery?”

“Obviously for his recovery the concussion and reaggravated old injury are the main concerns. For those the doctor’s recommendation is rest and patience, and medication as needed,” Lady Smallwood explained. “I'll have Anthea bring you specific instructions and guidelines when she brings groceries and other items the two of you may need. Before then if something specific comes to mind feel free to contact her, I'm sure she'll oblige.”

It took Greg a moment to remember Anthea was the beautiful woman glued to her phone who was almost always at Mycroft’s side. “Will do. You know, a concussion and reaggravated old injury does actually sound pretty severe.”

“I believe I used the term non life-threatening,” she reminded him. “Mycroft has suffered severe injuries and survived before. Of course fieldwork isn't the safest line of work.”

‘Fieldwork’? Greg had always heard Mycroft describe himself as a minor government official. Sherlock had countered that by claiming Mycroft was the most dangerous man in London. And on multiple occasions Greg had witnessed Mycroft acting above and beyond the role of a minor government official; so it wasn’t all that difficult not to fall for Mycroft’s official line.

“There’s always a first time for everything,” Greg pointed out, feeling like he was being the most logical one for once. He started shuffling towards the door of his bedroom.

“True,” Lady Smallwood allowed. “I know Mycroft well enough to know that he can and will recover and overcome this obstacle. It may not sound like a compliment, but his stubbornness is an equal match for his intelligence. He just needs to be convinced to actually rest and to take some personal time for himself. And realize work isn’t the most important thing in life.”

“I’ll find a way,” Greg promised, managing to set himself yet another challenge. “When will I know to meet you at Mycroft’s to, er, welcome him home?” As he passed his dresser Greg squinted at the digital clock perched on top. It was still early, almost the time he’d be off to work on an ordinary day.

As if reading his thoughts, Lady Smallwood said, “I understand you don’t normally work on the weekend, unless you have an active case. You now have no need to worry, I’ve arranged for you to have the next several days off; with full compensation of course.”

As if there was nothing to her rearranging his schedule for him. Then again, maybe there wasn’t. “Thank you, that’s very nice of you.”

“The least I could do in return,” Lady Smallwood replied over the sudden noise of raised voices in the background. “Detective Inspector, I’m afraid I must go.”

“Wait, I still have-”

“My apologies, Detective Inspector, I’ll try to ring you again soon. In the meantime, Anthea will be contacting you shortly with further details.” Lady Smallwood spoke quickly, sounding distracted. “I wish you the best of luck.”

Suddenly she was gone and the dial tone was sounding in his ear.

Lady Smallwood had left to look after Mycroft for now, leaving Greg with only twenty-four hours before Mycroft’s well-being was officially declared his personal responsibility. Which meant only twenty-four hours for him to decide how the hell he was going to survive this.

~~~ / ~~~ /~~~

Less than twenty-four hours later Greg was busy trying to clean up his flat. It was proving more difficult than usual since he’d been ignoring its deteriorating state for a while. Right now it was at the point where after several hours of cleaning there was still more work to do. He’d been putting it off, but seeing as he was about to spend several days (weeks?) at Mycroft’s he couldn’t exactly avoid it any more.

Greg was in the midst of washing his stack of dirty dishes when his mobile began to vibrate where it was stored safe in his pocket. He set the plate down in the sink, quickly dried his hands off with a nearby towel, and retrieved his mobile.

“Hello?” He answered without first looking at the screen, which by now he probably should have learned not to do.

“Good evening, Detective Inspector Lestrade, this is Anthea,” a somewhat familiar woman’s voice greeted him. But it was the name that he recognized.

“Oh, hello,” Greg said a little awkwardly, caught off guard by her call.

“Hello,” Anthea sounded mildly amused; Greg wished she would start talking again before he could embarrass himself more.

“I’m aware Lady Smallwood told you it would be twenty-four hours before you’d be expected at Mr Holmes’ residence,” Anthea began, a little hesitant but still calm. 

Greg wondered just how much she dealt with on a daily basis as Mycroft’s assistant to be able to remain calm all the time. “I’m afraid that the timetable has been drastically shortened.”

Damn. “How much time do I have then?” Greg asked, trying to figure out how much he had left to do.

“Not quite an hour. Mr. Holmes has insisted that since the doctor has declared his condition as stable and that he is in no further danger he does not need to remain in hospital for the remainder of the twenty fours. Thankfully members of Mr. Holmes’ security team were available to take him home once he made this decision.” 

Greg could tell she was not very pleased with her employer’s decision, but would not say as such.

“They are on their way to his home now, so I cannot offer you a more specific timeline. Groceries and supplies have been purchased, enough for the next several days or however long you remain at Mr. Holmes’. Also Mr. Holmes’ security team has been made aware of the situation and have updated their protocols and the system as necessary.”

Oh, excellent; at least he didn’t have to worry about being shot on sight when he turned up at Mycroft’s door. And they wouldn’t worry about having on hand what they needed. “That’s, that’s good news,” Greg said, feeling a little overwhelmed. “I’ll just finish packing then, I suppose. If you tell me the address I’ll meet you there.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Detective Inspector,” Anthea replied, surprisingly firm. “Given the situation, it would be best if you travel in one of our secure vehicles. I believe we will be arriving at your flat in approximately twenty minutes. Please be ready to join us by then.”

Even after knowing the Holmes brothers for many years, and John for slightly less, Greg still felt most comfortable behind the wheel of his own car. He had never shared their preferences of taking cabs or traveling in a nondescript black car all over London.

“Thanks for your concern, but that’s really not necessary,” Greg insisted, heading back towards his bedroom so he could finish packing everything within the limited time he apparently had. “I understand security is important, but you really don’t have to give me a lift.”

Anthea sighed quietly, and for the first time in their conversation he could hear impatience in her voice. “Detective Inspector, with all due respect, I must insist. It is my responsibility to ensure your protection and safety until you arrive at Mr Holmes’ home and have settled in. I gave my word to Mr Holmes that I would look after you, and I believe we both would prefer to avoid upsetting Mr Holmes at the moment.”

Greg wasn’t sure why Anthea and Mycroft would worry about his safety when Mycroft was the one who needed looking after. But if accepting Anthea’s lift helped him get to Mycroft faster then it was fine.

“All right. I’ll pack my things and be ready to meet you downstairs,” Greg agreed, opening the drawers of his dresser and tossing things onto his bed. “Twenty minutes you said?”

“Fifteen.” Anthea corrected, followed by a click indicating she was gone.

Wonderful, now he only had fifteen minutes to pack everything he would need during his stay at Mycroft’s. And to make sure his flat would survive his absence for who knew how long.

~~~~

Exactly fifteen minutes later Greg’s mobile chimed, just as he was trying to close the travel bag he’d apparently overstuffed.

Greg tugged on the zipper one last time and finally managed to force it the rest of the way, ending up half sprawled across the bag.

Once he was back on his feet Greg leaned over to where his mobile was charging on his nightstand. With a touch the screen lit up to reveal his new text message from Anthea, informing him they were in a car waiting downstairs.

Time to go then. Greg unplugged his mobile and put it in his pocket before picking up his bag. It was heavier than he’d expected and he needed to use both hands to carry it out into the living room. 

Greg stopped to turn off lights as he went. At the front door he stopped to look around in case he had forgotten anything. 

He picked up his keys from the table near the door where he’d tossed them when he’d got in. Then, after one last look, he opened his front door and stepped outside, making sure to lock up properly.

To his surprise Anthea was not absorbed in her phone as usual when he opened the back door to the black car waiting at the curb. She turned to look at him, waiting patiently as he slid inside and set his bag on the seat next to him, before she spoke.

“Good morning, Detective Inspector,” Anthea greeted with a faint smile. “Your company is a pleasure, as always. In fact,” she added, “You are one of the few people I enjoy kidnapping off the street.”

Greg laughed at that, but was secretly a little touched. He was fairly certain the other people Anthea took off the street were John, Sherlock, and other government officials or politicians Mycroft thought it necessary to ‘intimidate.’ “Thanks, I think.”

Anthea offered him a warmer smile, sharing his amusement. She turned sideways and knocked twice on the divider between the driver and the back of the car, signaling the driver. 

The car silently pulled out into traffic and began moving smoothly towards their destination.

“I see you’ve packed light, Detective Inspector,” Anthea said, gesturing at his bag. Greg couldn’t tell whether she was teasing him or not.

“It’s really just the essentials.” Greg gave the bag a light pat. “Wasn’t sure exactly what I’d need since I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”

“Yes, well, that is yet to be determined,” Anthea said, frowning. She briefly looked worried before the expression disappeared completely. 

Anthea tapped her fingers on her knee once, twice, then took out her mobile and began typing away rapidly.

Well, that was the end of any conversation then. Obviously she had important matters that needed her attention, working for the embodiment of the British government as she did. 

Greg leaned back in his seat with a quiet sigh and tried to find a comfortable position.

A while later Anthea spoke again, a hint of worry creeping back into her voice. “Given how Mr. Holmes has left the hospital earlier than was planned, it seems his security team is currently rapidly working to ensure his residence is secure and prepared. They should be finished before we arrive.”

“Great.” Greg was relieved to hear professionals were the ones making sure Mycroft would be safe in his own home. And Greg too, he supposed, for a while. “I’m sure Mr. Holmes has security experts on staff and a high end security system installed.”

Anthea hummed quietly, gaze still focused on her mobile. “Unfortunately Mr Holmes’ security system has not been properly functioning up to this point. The system has been unable to undergo maintenance, including a much needed upgrade, since Sherlock and Doctor Watson's recent… visit.”

Greg knew that tone all too well. It meant Sherlock and John had hatched some ridiculous plan, and this time Mycroft was the one suffering the consequences. “What did they do?” Greg asked warily. 

He wanted to both know if this was yet another thing Mycroft was struggling with and how long he needed to wait to forgive Sherlock and John for what they had done this time.

Anthea finally looked up from her mobile to scrutinize him with a look she must have learned from Mycroft.

Finally just the corner of her mouth curled up. Anthea carefully set her mobile down on the seat, screen facing down. 

“Sherlock and Doctor Watson felt Mr Holmes was withholding some vitally important information from them. For some reason they decided their best plan was to break into Mr Holmes residence and use highly questionable tactics to frighten him into revealing said information. Their plan included overriding Mr Holmes’ security system so they could enter unnoticed.”

“Course they did,” Greg said, feeling the ever familiar exasperation with the Baker Street duo. “Honestly, no one deserves that. When did this happen?”

“I believe it was before the explosion at Baker Street and before they disappeared to an undisclosed location,” Anthea told him, cautiously. “Luckily Mr. Holmes’ residence is still standing and in working order, more or less.”

“Very lucky,” Greg agreed, imagining the worst that could have happened; he looked out the window of the car to discover they were now driving through a very upscale neighborhood. 

It shouldn’t surprise him, really. But Greg would never have set foot in this area on his own.

Silence fell again as they passed more houses and streets; Greg continued staring out the window while Anthea resumed running the country from her mobile. 

“There is one more important matter I’d like to discuss with you,” Anthea announced, startling Greg out of the daze he’d apparently fallen into. “Before we arrive at the house.”

Greg tore his gaze away from the window and back inside the car to meet Anthea’s eyes. “What’s that then?”

Anthea had set her mobile down on her leg, treating him to the full weight of her attention. “I hope you understand Detective Inspector, that given the situation, this was not a decision we came to lightly; and in Mr. Holmes’ case not without some persuasion.” She lifted her chin, a slow, dangerous smile curling her mouth. “You are being entrusted with Mr. Holmes’ well-being; and he is not only vital to the British government but he is also quite important to Lady Smallwood and myself.”

Oh god, this was Anthea’s version of the hurt him and we will hurt you speech. Greg had faced down many different (and intimidating) people over the years; but this was actually properly terrifying.

Anthea elegantly raised her eyebrows at him. “Do we understand each other?”

“Yep, perfectly clear,” Greg agreed, nodding quickly. He shifted slightly in his seat, avoiding thinking about what she’d do to him if he’d said no. No wonder she and Mycroft worked well together.

“Excellent,” Anthea approved. She glanced out the window and announced, as if she’d timed it exactly, “We’ve arrived.”

Already? At Greg’s surprise Anthea helpfully pointed out the window on the other side of the car from him.

Greg slid across the seat, pulling his bag into his lap as he went. Once he was next to the door Greg was given his first glimpse of the place Mycroft Holmes called home.

His first impression was that it was… grand. Similar to the other homes in the area, locked behind iron fences or guarded by tall brick walls, and costing more than his lifetime salary. This one stood a little apart from the others around it, partially hidden behind a thick iron fence, with an imposing brick facade, a barricade of an elaborate door, and large shuttered windows that hinted at how much larger it was inside.

Greg swallowed thickly and wondered just what he would find once he opened that door.

A sharp knock on the window startled them both. Greg quickly looked over to Anthea.

“No need for alarm, Detective Inspector.” She leaned over and pressed a button which powered down the window on his side.

“Good morning, Jones,” she greeted the man who had suddenly appeared standing beside the car. Greg noticed he was dressed in a conspicuous and expensive dark suit with tinted dark sunglasses. “How are we?”

‘Jones’ adjusted his glasses and returned her smile, bending to look through the window at them. “Morning, Miss Smith. Everything is well; we just finished securing the residence, and there’s no issues to report.”

His gaze drifted from Anthea (or ‘Miss Smith’) to land on Greg. Greg stilled, waiting for the man- obviously part of Mr. Holmes’ security team- to question why Greg was there.

But instead ‘Jones’ gave Greg a nod of acknowledgement and straightened, moving out of view. A besuited arm reached out to the door to open it for them with a quiet ‘click.’

“Jones is in charge of all matters regarding Mr. Holmes’ security,” Anthea explained to Greg, exiting the car gracefully. 

“Jones, the Detective Inspector has graciously agreed to stay with Mr. Holmes during his recovery. I hope you will help him feel welcome during his time here.” She treated them both to a sly smile. “I imagine the two of you will get to know each other very well.” 

Greg offered a faint, “Hello,” as he attempted to climb out of the car while keeping hold of his bag.

Before he could blink Jones swiftly took the bag from him and slid it onto his shoulder like it weighed nothing. 

“Hello, Detective Inspector. A pleasure to meet you,” The man greeted, breaking his serious facade to flash Greg a cheery smile. “On behalf of everyone, I’d like to thank you for coming to keep Mr. Holmes company. I think it’ll be good for him.”

Greg glanced quickly over to Anthea, but except for the slight smile she appeared absorbed in her phone. “Well, let me know if you feel the same way after this is all over.”

“Oh I’m sure I will,” Jones replied confidently, turning to push the car door closed. The car drove off silently, leaving the three of them standing on the pavement.

Anthea’s mobile chimed quietly. “It seems preparations inside are complete,” she shared, rapidly typing out a reply.

“Jones, if you would give the Detective Inspector a tour of the grounds and all of the security features, I will go inside and check in with Mr. Holmes.”

“Fine by me,” Greg said agreeably. He didn’t mind the extra time to prepare before seeing Mycroft again.

Jones glanced between the two of them, but Greg couldn’t tell what the look was for. Finally he said, “This way then, Detective Inspector. We’ll start our tour by the front gate.”

Greg gave Anthea a quick nod he hoped she interpreted as thanks before he followed after Jones.

———

Yes, I know I’m keeping them apart for a little longer, Anthea silently responded to the look Jones had given her. But with all that’s happened and given how Mr. Holmes has been behaving I want to be absolutely certain before I leave the two of them alone together.

Once Jones and Lestrade were out of sight Anthea returned her mobile to her jacket pocket then slipped off towards the side entrance of the house.

It was less grand and imposing than the front entrance, intended more for deliveries and discreet quests, while still being secure. The only access was by a concealed gate hidden within the ironwork of the high iron fence that surrounded Mr. Holmes’ property. The gate itself could only be opened if one knew the trick of it, and had the appropriate security clearance. 

The side entrance was also one of Anthea’s favorite parts of the house; with its antique and expertly detailed wooden overhang built above the antique carved paneled wooden door. The stained glass of the windows on either side, which were designed to look out not in, were also a favorite of hers. Repurposed time worn cobblestones formed the two steps up to the door, while a security camera/retina scanner and fingerprint scanner were embedded within the bronze hardware fixtures.

Anthea stepped up to the door, positioning her face in front of where she knew the camera was hidden while she wrapped a hand around the dark bronze door handle and pressed her thumb against the latch. 

A few seconds later there was a soft beep as her identity was confirmed. The door swung open on its own while at the same time her mobile chimed quietly from her pocket.

Anthea pulled it out to read her new text. Welcome back, Miss Smith. Mr Holmes can be found in the kitchen. Jones and the Detective Inspector are still touring the outside perimeter.

There was a reason why Mr. Holmes security team were highly recommended and considered world-class.

Anthea sent back a quick Thank you, as she stepped inside. The door swung closed behind her to lock with a quiet click as the security lock re-engaged.

She walked along the unlit hallway, the noise from her heels echoing on the marble floor and wooden paneling. Down the hallway she passed the closed doors of the pantry, a powder room, and the seldom used entertaining room as she headed for the kitchen.

Anthea paused when she arrived at the wide archway that led into the kitchen, and then silently suppressed a sigh at the sheer depth of the man’s stubborness. 

The kitchen was almost completely dark and silent except for the overhead light over the sink and the quiet hum of the refrigerator. Everything was just as pristine and clean as the last time she was here; there had been too much chaos lately for using the kitchen.

Mr Holmes’ back was to her where he sat alone on a stool, not quite hunched over the counter with his head cradled in his hands and fingers curled at his temples. A nearly full glass of water nearby had not been touched at all. He was also still wearing the (casual for him) clothes she’d brought to him at the hospital instead of changing into more comfortable clothes. He didn’t seem to have been anywhere other than the kitchen since he’d returned home.

Mr. Holmes was a very private person who rarely allowed himself to become overwhelmed by his emotions. Usually it was only his brother’s dangerous and reckless antics or an international world-ending crisis that pushed him over that line.

She knew he’d prefer to be left alone, but Anthea wanted to talk with him before the Detective Inspector and Jones joined them. 

“Sir,” Anthea called softly, slowly entering the room as quietly as possible. “I believe you are meant to be resting.”

Mr. Holmes went completely still at the sound of her voice, frozen in place as he waited still.

When it became obvious she was alone Mr Holmes sighed and took his hands away from his face. He pushed himself upright, but it wasn’t his usual proper posture.

“Hello Anthea, so kind of you to come.” He turned his head slightly in her direction. “I take it the Detective Inspector is here as well?”

“Jones is currently giving him a tour of the perimeter and the security system and features,” Anthea explained, ignoring the sarcasm with ease. “So I decided to come join you.”

Mr. Holmes was only ever sarcastic with her when it was just the two of them, and only when she knew he was silently struggling with the weight of the world resting solely on his shoulders. She’d learned long ago to never take it personally but to let it glance off. Most of the time Mr. Holmes was able to restrain his tongue and his temper, as expected for an individual of his position.

“I appreciate the thought, but there’s no further need for you to be concerned, Anthea,” Mr. Holmes replied, his voice curt. 

He stretched a hand out towards the glass of water then tensed again before his entire body was wracked with a shudder. When he recovered Mr. Holmes hesitated, pressing his palm into the coolness of the counter. “I’ve come to resign myself to being a willing prisoner in my own home for the foreseeable future,” he continued, voice tight.

“I wouldn’t say a prisoner, sir,” Anthea commented, reaching out to inch the glass closer to him. He ignored it in order to turn an irritated look on her. Anthea just raised her eyebrows at him, willing to wait.

To her satisfaction he picked up the glass and took a long drink, squinting in the low light. Now he was almost slumped over the counter, and nearly shaking from all the tension he was holding in.

Anthea decided he had been in denial for long enough, it was now necessary for her to take charge. And her first task was helping him find somewhere to lie down and rest, as soon as possible. “You will have the Detective Inspector here with you, sir. I know you enjoy his company.”

Mr. Holmes made a noncommittal noise; finishing the rest of his water instead of admitting that he did enjoy the Detective Inspector’s company. 

She had witnessed for herself that even after Sherlock cleaned himself up for good and started regularly consulting on cases, Mr. Holmes had continued finding reasons (excuses) to contact Lestrade; he also always seemed in better spirits after spending time with Lestrade. It was one of the main reasons she had suggested the Detective Inspector to take care of Mr. Holmes.

Mr Holmes set his glass down on the counter in front of him as quietly as possible. Anthea wondered if she refilled it if he would drink more. 

After a moment of silence Mr. Holmes exhaled noisily, head tipping forward into his hands. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, blocking out the world. “Even if he did enjoy my company I can’t imagine he will want to stay once it’s just the two of us. He’ll quickly come to regret agreeing to this.”

“I believe the Detective Inspector will surprise you, sir,” Anthea insisted, refilling the glass and setting it back in front of him. She felt like she knew an important secret that her employer didn’t; Anthea just hoped they would both realize it themselves. “Both Lady Smallwood and I spoke with him; I didn’t have the impression he was particularly dreading this arrangement.”

“Not yet,” Mr. Holmes said softly under his breath, still speaking from behind his hands. “That can easily change.”

Anthea understood he was feeling unwell and likely not thinking properly. Throughout their time working together she never had been able to convince him he was worth much more than just his albeit vital position in government. There were very few people in the world who realized there was more to him than just the facade he showed to the world; and even fewer who understood he was actually human just like everyone else. 

Anthea only hoped Lestrade would be one of the rare few to look and push past Mr. Holmes’ nearly impenetrable armor and that he would fully understand just what was being revealed to him, hidden away from the rest of the world. She knew the potential was there already.

Trying not to give any of her thoughts away Anthea only said aloud, hoping she could convince him, “Please give him a chance, sir. As I said, he might surprise you.”

“I do not want any more surprises, Anthea,” Mr Holmes snapped in a furious burst, moving his hands away from his face but not meeting her gaze. “I've suffered enough surprises now to last the remainder of my life. As for the Detective Inspector, my only concern is whether his presence will in fact improve my recovery as you and Lady Smallwood seem to believe. I myself am under no illusion that he will be willing to stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary!”

Anthea took a moment of silence rather than immediately respond in the face of his outburst. Mr. Holmes didn’t often lose his temper with her (that was mostly reserved for his brother or the more idiotic of politicians he dealt with), but it could be frightening to be the sole focus of his anger.

This time though she mostly just felt sympathetic, which she quickly buried because Anthea knew he would not appreciate that from her. He abhorred showing any weakness at all, even if he actually was unwell.

Rather than confront him about his outburst Anthea carefully suggested, dreading every word coming out of her mouth, “If you have indeed decided that you would rather not have the Detective Inspector stay with you, I can find a medical professional instead. It just may take a little while to locate someone.”

Anthea was not often prone to dramatics, but it felt as if the entire room held its breath waiting to hear Mr Holmes’ decision. She silently pleaded with him to make the right decision; it was obvious to everyone else that his spending time alone with Lestrade would be so very good for him. He just needed to choose to give himself the chance.

His entire body seemed to freeze, every part of him caught up in the process of making this momentous decision. She imagined she could hear his heart thundering away in his chest as his brilliant mind worked overtime to consider every possibility.

Finally Mr. Holmes exhaled noisily, releasing his breath and most of the tension he had bottled up inside until now. He was still holding something in, she could see the remnants of it in the lines around his eyes. But this was progress.

“Very well,” Mr. Holmes agreed with a soft sigh. “I suppose Lestrade has given his agreement and has already arrived. It wouldn’t be polite to turn him away.”

Of course those weren’t his only reasons, Anthea suspected. Aloud she said to him, “Yes, sir. Speaking of, I believe Jones and the Detective Inspector should be finished with their inspection of the grounds and the security system any moment now.”

A moment later the security system sounded a quiet alert as Anthea’s mobile buzzed in her pocket. She took it out to read the message alert generated by the system that two authorized individuals had just entered through the front door.

The corner of Mr. Holmes’ mouth curved ever so slightly. “Impeccable timing as always, Anthea.”

It was as if he had never snapped at her, or her apparent overstep of the lines of their relationship had been forgiven.

He straightened to sit completely upright on the stool, readjusting his shirt sleeves as Jones and the Detective Inspector’s voices filtered in from the front entry.

Anthea returned the smile, forgiving his outburst in turn. While they were still alone she moved closer to him. 

Keeping her voice low and quiet she said, with complete sincerity, “If you do need my assistance, sir, for any reason, please contact me right away. I will keep my mobile nearby at all times just in case.”

“Thank you Anthea, I appreciate that very much,” Mr. Holmes replied quietly, voice tinged with gratitude.

The footsteps grew closer from the entry hall, Jones’ voice and the Detective Inspector’s laughter filling the normally empty space. As far as she knew Mr. Holmes had never entertained personal guests in this house. It was considered his private retreat just for himself; everyone else he interacted with was directed to one of his offices.

She could only hope the Detective Inspector would prove himself as the sole exception.

As Jones and the Detective Inspector entered the kitchen Anthea leaned in to say quietly, resting her hand on his shoulder, “Please take care of yourself, sir. There are many people hoping for your quick and full recovery.”

She glimpsed the skepticism darkening his eyes when their gazes met briefly before he turned away from her. Anthea repressed a sigh as his shoulders slumped fractionally and his eyes seemed to fixate on the counter in front of him.

Lestrade had his work cut out for him.

Speaking of… 

“I’ll take my leave then, sir,” she announced loudly so the Detective Inspector and Jones could hear. 

Turning to face the newcomers Anthea fixed a polite smile on her face, catching the confusion that swept over Lestrade’s face. Not so blind then. “All finished with your tour, then?”

“Yes, Miss. I showed him everything he’ll need to know,” Jones slid off his sunglasses to set them on top of his head. “And we made sure everything’s set right.”

“Quite the place you’ve got here, Mr. Holmes,” Lestrade finally spoke, his cheerfulness sounding slightly forced. Standing just inside the kitchen, obviously looking around trying to take everything in, he did look a little out of place.

Mr. Holmes hummed quietly, eyes still fixed on the counter.

Anthea and Jones shared a look before he made a small gesture towards the front door at her.

Right, nothing for it but to leave the two of them alone and hope they both survived the experience.

“I’ll leave you two be, sir,” Jones announced, eyes on Mr. Holmes. “I’m only a call away if you need me.”

“Thank you, Jones,” Mr. Holmes replied, his tone sounding curt if one didn’t know better. He still wasn’t looking at any of them.

Anthea walked across the kitchen to pause near Jones, only feeling a twinge of regret at leaving Mr. Holmes alone. Well, mostly alone; alone with a well meaning Detective Inspector who didn’t have her experience navigating Mr. Holmes’ moods.

“Thank you again, Lestrade,” Anthea told the Detective Inspector with complete sincerity. He quickly looked away from Mr. Holmes to her. “You have my number and Jones’, if you need to contact us.”

“Right, yeah,” Lestrade agreed, sounding distracted as his gaze wandered back to Mr. Holmes. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Well, there was nothing more for her to do here. 

Anthea wrapped her hand around Jones’ arm and began guiding him towards the front door, leaving Mr. Holmes and Lestrade behind. 

——

Not off to the best start.

Jones and Anthea’s footsteps faded away towards the front door, leaving him alone in this house with a man he barely knew.

Greg knew he should probably be worrying more about why he was here and how exactly he was supposed to help Mr. Holmes; especially when he didn’t have any experience with this kind of once in a lifetime situation.

But actually what worried him the most was how shockingly wrong it felt to see Mycroft Holmes sat hunched over at the island counter in only his shirt aleeves and trousers (instead of his usual three piece suit of armor), supported on shaking arms with his face hidden buried in his hands. 

Greg knew he had been given his first real glimpse of Mycroft Holmes the human being at Sherrinford; in the middle of such a crisis and given the pain he knew Mycroft had been in (was still in) there had been no time for keeping each other at arm's length. 

Until now they’d rarely met in person, and those meetings were few and far between; they’d almost entirely corresponded over the phone or via text. But when they had met face to face, Greg had either met Mycroft Holmes the politician or Mycroft Holmes the government puppetmaster. Mycroft Holmes the constantly worried and overprotective older brother only made an appearance if Sherlock was in danger or far in over his head. The rest of the enigma of Mycroft Holmes remained carefully hidden behind a thoroughly constructed facade.

But here alone in the kitchen, brought together again by friendly conspirators (this time), Greg was finally witnessing the full extent of Mycroft Holmes the human being. Every single barrier built up between them over the years had suddenly crumbled into nothing.

And honestly, Greg’s first reaction was how completely wretched the man looked. 

He knew Mycroft was in physical pain, that was plainly obvious. But emotional pain was something completely different. The poor man looked seconds away from finally collapsing under the combined weight of all the responsibilities he’d been carrying on his own for so many years.

How was Greg supposed to fix that? He was familiar with how easy it was to hold too tightly to the steadiness of your job while everything else in your life fell apart. But Mycroft didn’t just have familial responsibilities to worry about, he was also responsible for the survival of the British kingdom and her citizens. While also keeping the rest of the world intact.

Greg’s own problems didn’t seem all that important in comparison.

Just standing here isn’t helping, idiot. Say something. If he’s anything like Sherlock he needs a distraction so he doesn’t get lost in his head. Especially given how awful he feels.

“Well, Mr. Holmes,” Greg attempted a bit of humor, hoping for some kind of reaction. Even if it was just Mycroft looking over at him. “Alone at last.”

Complete silence. No reaction at all.

Shit, now what?

Tea. When in doubt, tea.

“Want some tea?” Greg suggested hopefully, already moving around the kitchen island. He had spotted a kettle plugged in on the counter at the other side of the stove.

A whisper of a sigh from behind him. “No thank you, Lestrade.”

Please don’t; don’t make this any harder.

“I’ll just make some for myself then,” Greg announced, and then winced at how rude that sounded.

“If you do decide you want some after a bit, I can make more,” Greg offered, starting to fill the kettle. 

After a pause he added, still trying to find solid the ground as it shifted underneath him, “Unless you want coffee instead?”

A slightly louder, and cuttingly curt, “No, thank you, Detective Inspector,” was his answer.

Shit. Now he was back to ‘Detective Inspector’ again. Mycroft was already pushing him away and they’d only been alone for less than ten minutes. The outlook for the next several days was not looking great.

“All right, let me know if you change your mind,” Greg offered, replacing the kettle and flicking it on.

While he waited for the water to be ready Greg turned around to face Mycroft and then leaned back against the counter.

Mycroft was in the same position as before, if now bent slightly further over the island. His face was still buried in his hands, allowing Greg to take in the uncharacteristic wrinkled shirt and disheveled hair, as well as the rigid tension in his shoulders without having to endure Mycroft’s hostile gaze.

Mycroft had suffered his worst nightmares brought to life and been cut to the core by everything he had barely endured at Sherrinford. But even now after going to hospital and being seen by a doctor Mycroft didn’t look that much better. Wasn’t being home meant to be a comfort?

Speaking of home comforts…

“While I’m waiting for the kettle, how about something to eat? Should be something here you’ll like.” Greg turned back around and started opening and closing cupboards to see what supplies Anthea had left them. “Especially after all that inedible hospital food.”

A sharp inhale of breath was Greg’s only warning of a Holmesian tongue lashing.

“I do not want food or a drink, Detective Inspector. I am perfectly fine. What I would like is for some peace and quiet, and for you to stop mollycoddling me!”

Greg blinked, taken aback by Mycroft’s ferocity without him even having raised his voice. 

He slowly, warily, shifted to look over at the man again. “I’m, I’m not mollycoddling you, Mycroft,” honestly, only a Holmes would say such a thing. “I’m just trying to help. You don’t feel well, so I’m just suggesting things that might help you feel better.”

“Then as I said,” Mycroft said between what sounded like gritted teeth, “What I would find most helpful at this very moment is for some peace and quiet. But you seem unable to fulfill even such a seemingly simple request.”

Greg bit his tongue, holding his own sarcastic reply in check. Right, check. Can be just as much a sharp-tongued bastard as Sherlock when provoked. Deep breath.

”If that’s what you really want then yeah, I can do that,” Greg said agreeably, watching Mycroft carefully. “But you’ll probably be more comfortable in your own bed. Not sure if you’re meant to be sitting up like that, lying down might be a better idea.”

He considered the effort it might take to help Mycroft to his room, especially if it meant navigating the stairs. “Or is there some place else you could have a lie down? Somewhere on this level maybe?”

A hiss of irritation escaped Mycroft’s lips. The hands covering his face shifted away slightly so Mycroft’s pale eyes could peer out at Greg with contempt, as his long fingers curled at his temples.

“I am not an invalid, Lestrade. If I wish to go lie down in my own bed then I will do so on my own.” The grey eyes narrowed frostily. “I am not completely helpless.”

“Never said you were,” Greg returned. He could feel his patience quickly starting to fray. Somehow Mycroft could push his buttons even better than Sherlock ever had. “Like I said, just trying to help.”

Mycroft made a skeptical sound, finally lowering his hands to clasp them tightly together on the counter. “You believe you are, but in fact the only reason you are here is because Lady Smallwood and Anthea requested it of you.” 

He leaned forward ever so slightly, in a way that on an ordinary day would be intimidating. “You also seem to be under the very misguided notion that I need taking care of.” 

His voice dropped into the lowest most scornful register Greg had ever heard from the man. “That is where you are very much mistaken. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. In fact I have been doing so perfectly well for decades. What happened recently was horrific and regrettable, but does not hamper my ability to look after myself.”

“Not what the doctor said,” Greg argued, moving over to the island to lean against it directly opposite from Mycroft. “Or Anthea or Lady Smallwood. You might have taken care of yourself “perfectly well,” he hoped the air quotes were implied, “for decades, but after something like this there’s no harm in asking for help.”

Mycroft went still before slowly leaning away from him, straightening back in his chair. Greg could almost see his armor piecing itself back together around him. “I wasn’t aware you were a medical professional in your spare time, Detective Inspector. How fortunate. That spares me the need to ring for one.”

“It’s not a medical professional you need, you’ve already seen a doctor,” Greg disagreed sternly, ignoring the sarcasm as he pointed a finger at the man. 

A part of his brain that wasn’t fixated on how irritating and probably purposely provoking Mycroft was being noticed the tension lines forming around the man’s eyes as he began squinting more than glaring and how tightly his lips were pressed together as he clenched his jaw.

Not noticing these signs, Greg forged on. “What you actually need is a friend. Friends don’t mind sharing the load, or letting you lean on them for support. And friends look after each other, especially when one of them isn’t well or is down on their luck. That’s what friends do; and opening yourself up to them is how you don’t end up carrying every single burden on your own for years and years before you finally collapse under the weight and regret!”

Mycroft’s stool squealed across the floor in protest as it was forced backwards by Mycroft climbing to his feet.

Greg completely froze in place, heart pounding in his chest as he suddenly noticed the grey tint to Mycroft’s skin and the stoniness of his expression as every single one of those barriers slammed firmly down into place again.

“I do not need a friend, Detective Inspector. Even if you were offering.”

Flint appeared in his eyes as he scrutinized Greg, fingers tightly gripping the edge of the counter. “Before you utter another single word, I would suggest you carefully reconsider your reasons for being here, Detective Inspector. If you do decide you would rather leave then I believe you know where the door is. Jones will find you a driver to take you to whatever destination you prefer. Otherwise you may come find me once you’ve again found reason!”

With that Mycroft decisively turned away and stormed out of the kitchen as fast as he could on his injured leg- which was really not very fast at all.

He’d disappeared into the hallway before Greg recovered enough to think to call after him.

Of course there was no answer.

Not unreasonable to want you to understand you don’t have to brave this alone, you stubborn bastard. Sherlock, Anthea, and Lady Smallwood may have asked me but I made the decision to come. 

I want to be here.

The problem was how the hell to make Mycroft understand. Especially when the idiot was so used to being alone and taking on every burden involved with managing everything on his own.

Start small, work away at him piece by piece.

A small peace offering might be a start…

——-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there folks! These two have a long ways to go!


End file.
